


cat's cradle

by newvision



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 17:58:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13552626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newvision/pseuds/newvision
Summary: It’s springtime, a few months after his mom died, and Wonwoo doesn’t know how he got here.





	1. cat's cradle

**Author's Note:**

> edit: okay so quick note because i completely forgot to do this until now but if you'd like to read this along with a playlist then i've got one here

i. cat’s cradle

; a child's game in which a loop of string is put around and between the fingers and complex patterns are formed.

It’s springtime, a few months after his mom died, and Wonwoo doesn’t know how he got here.

What he does know, however, is that his life is a series of moments put together, filled with many beginnings and endings, strings that cross over and slowly meld into each other. Which means that as impossible as this seems, it all began somewhere.

He guesses you could say it all began with his first year of university. Or maybe it was before that, in the years he spent conditioning himself to be perfect, all As, quiet so he’d never be too much, soft and pliable to touch. Or maybe it was in the months of test prep, sitting glued to his desk, his phone and his thoughts a thousand miles away, never truly solid.

He could keep doing this, just coming up with endless “maybe’s” and “what if’s”, keep tugging on the string till it unravels in his hands. It’s a quiet comfort, him clinging onto what he knows in solitude, sorting through each of his mental folders, compartmentalizing. No Jun to crack jokes to make him smile again, no Seungcheol and Jeonghan to offerly teasing brotherly advice, no Mingyu to mess around with.

No Soonyoung to be a guiding presence, a constant, his fiercest pillar of support.

So he sits, and sifts for clues.

 

If he keeps tugging at the string, he’s sure it’ll lead him back to his first year of university, the first of many firsts. University was his chance to Get Out, and to be Great, without the shadow of his parents breathing down his neck. Even as a child, he viewed the path to university like a glowing exit sign, a flying leap out of the nest and into the Real World. From the end of secondary school until he was 18, Wonwoo had meticulously collected university pamphlets. They sat in a neat stack on his nightstand, paper clipped together. Sometimes he’d stumble upon one that was particularly pretty or interesting, and he’d carefully cut it out, and paste it safely in his journal. It wasn’t much, but he figured he could always use a reminder of the more gentle parts of life, a compilation of goodness. Sometimes it’d be the facade of a building, an overgrown landscape, or just a paragraph of words. Small things to make up a whole, something he could build. A life, regardless of the means.

His parents, of course, always had different ideas. Life was not meant to be lived so passively, they’d always tell him. For every cut-out, every worn page of his notebook, there was backlash, anger and confusion and reluctance. There was always the same phrase thrown around, “Be practical.” Picking classes as a 15-year old who wanted nothing more than to explore his options, he had to be practical. Picking an extracurricular in college, it had to be practical, something he could devote his life to. Devising a route to school, making friends, plotting a study schedule. Practical, practical, practical.

Wonwoo was tired of being practical.

So for once, he chooses something for himself. He will lie low at university. Things will be fine. He’ll get the degree his parents want, work a little, and then do what he really wants when he can support himself. If you severe reliance at the root, there will be nothing to heal, because you’ll finally be completely uprooted. Of course, freedom has a cost, but Wonwoo thinks maybe he can hold off on his dreams for a few more years. Just for a little longer.

So it begins: he sits on his laptop, waiting for his timeslots to open. It is 3pm. Everything is just a little bit grayer than usual. He could just register for the classes he really wants - the Intro to Theatre Studies class, Modern Politics of Southeast Asia, Intro to Anthropology. No one is around but him. He also knows that fighting back now would be an awful decision to make. Maybe he could have this guise of control for a second, but soon enough all that adrenaline will go rushing out of his system and it’ll be the same dull life, as always. He’d have to deal with the yelling, the disappointment, and the mutters of “God, what a waste.” He doesn’t think he could take much more of that.

So, no. He lies low. He registers for the business, finance, accounting classes his parents so desperately want him to take. It’s all about surviving before he can begin thriving. An economics major is a practical route to take, his father says. Learn all about the way the world works, the invisible hand that controls all our lives in the most imperceptible ways. He doesn’t mind it so much. Academia had always been one of his strongest suits, always happiest when he was learning something new. Of course it’d be better if it was something he actually cared about and wouldn’t mind devoting his life to (like the theatre, like literature) but those were secondary concerns. Push it down, and don’t let it go any further. Don’t think about what you can’t have.

For good measure, he enrolls in a class about horticulture, just to balance the economics classes he was taking. As a first year, he wouldn’t need to declare his major till the end of the year either way, meaning he would be able to have his pick of classes, play around in different disciplines before settling down with something. To his father, this meant him exploring nearly every business or economics-based class available to find the perfect one. To him, it meant finding the smallest loopholes to branch out, to finally catch a breath amidst commitments and being practical. So maybe, horticulture. He’d start with plants, something new. This he could rationalise, say that it was compulsory to take a couple classes outside of your faculty, to explore new disciplines, to be a holistic individual. His father would love that, words like “holistic”, and “discipline.” He may not have complete control, but its little pockets like this which he can seize, and build upon. It’s not ideal, darting through loopholes, but it is a life, and really, isn’t that all he wants?

(It isn’t.)


	2. opening A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wonwoo dives headfirst into university, and makes a new friend.

  1. **opening A**



 

; _the right index finger picks up the string on the left hand going between the thumb and the little finger. The left index finger then goes between both strings of right index finger, and picks up the string going from the right thumb to little finger._

 Being away from home is like gulping down breaths of fresh air after years of being locked away, a stuffy study with the windows finally flung open. University is different from what Wonwoo thought it would be. Gone is the spoon-feeding his previous professors used to reluctantly engage in, where class time was often spent shoving information down his throat with endless handouts and targeted readings. Instead, he’s expected to fend for himself. He goes to his lectures, keeps his head down, takes notes. Other times, he’s nestled in a corner of the faculty library, researching things for his unrestricted electives. He likes this life of stacks of books always ready at his hands, scouring for information, exploring uncharted territory.

 Most of all, he loves the independence it gives him. The panicked bird that lives in his chest had finally settled, no longer frightfully flying in fear at the slightest dip in his parents’ tone. And technically, he reminds himself, he is fulfilling their requirements. It’s not like they passed any jurisdiction over what he did to fill his schedule. So, he signs up for a class module on Greek tragic theatre. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

 A tiny taste of the life he could’ve had if he just mustered up a little courage, told his parents flat out that he’d take charge of his life on his own. He could’ve lived something a lot more vibrant that way, the voice in his head reminds him.

 He pushes it down. He doesn’t mind living like this, he tells himself. This is what it takes to have a life at all. He never would’ve made it if he just went on his own merry way, he convinces himself. This is just the way it has to be.

  
He has his theatre class twice a week, for about 2 hours each, and Wonwoo thinks that he loves it more than anything in the world. They’re doing All My Sons this week, applying Greek tragic theory to it, comparing it to the elements of a modern tragedy. He stays up till all hours of the night, reading papers on each of all of these ideas, meticulously taking notes in a hardcover notebook every time. It’s always fascinated him how a single piece of work could spawn so many different meanings and interpretations in different people, depending on their own lives and feelings. It makes everything so hugely personal, like a little window into one’s soul, without the person in question even realizing it. Like observing from a distance, and up close, all at once.

 With plays, with the theatre, Wonwoo thinks his favourite part of it is the stage directions. Just one little paragraph before each act, a set list of instructions to be followed, meaningless to the untrained eye. But to him, and to all the other students, they’re like a set of codes, meant to be taken apart, broken down and understood with every detail. Especially with Miller, he thinks. So much is held in the environment, in the timing of the play. They call him a realist playwright, encrypting hints about what’s going to unfold in the next 70 pages of the play in 2 lines or so. These lines define the play, socially, psychologically, physically.

 Wonwoo thinks he would give the world to be able to do something like that.

 (That’s another thought to be pushed down.)

  
There’s a boy named Joshua in his theatre class.

 Wonwoo likes the seats at the leftmost aisle, spacious and solitary enough for him to immerse himself in the lecture without being bothered by the shoal of students pressed together towards the centre of the hall, lending it an almost claustrophobic feeling. Usually, no one occupies the seats around him, there just isn’t enough of an enrollment to fill the hall entirely.

 Which is why it surprises him when a boy with pastel pink hair, and the gentlest eyes he’s ever seen approaches him, and asks if the seat next to him is taken.

 He finds out that the boy’s name is Joshua, a theatre studies major who’s redoing this module because he “skipped one too many lectures last sem”, smiling sheepishly, scratching at his neck. He finds out that Joshua-the-theatre-major has been into acting since he was a little kid, always went to plays with his parents, and he thinks that the best role in a show is a stage manager, don’t you?

 Wonwoo has no idea what the fuck a stage manager is. He hasn’t been to a single play in his life. There was never any time, and his parents would’ve thrown a fit - throwing away valuable revision time in favour of watching people put on fancy costumes and cannibalize their own emotions for 3 hours, all while sat in the dark. The idea was preposterous.

 Joshua must’ve seen the look on Wonwoo’s face, because he quickly switches away from the topic, asking Wonwoo about the assignments he missed instead. And even as Wonwoo hands Joshua his planner detailing the previous assignments, he can’t help but let that feeling of numbness overcome him, knowing that despite what it looks like, he’s the one who’s been left behind.

  
There’s a boy named Joshua in his theatre class, and on a day 2 months into the semester, Joshua says something that makes Wonwoo’s heart stop.

 “I mean, sometimes I don’t sleep for 2 whole days but there’s something about seeing it all fall together on stage so smoothly that makes it worth it, you know?” he says, like it’s nothing remarkable. Like Wonwoo wouldn’t give everything to be able to say something like that just as casually.

 “What?”

 “Oh yeah, sleep’s hard to come by whenever it’s tech week and stuff, but it-” Joshua begins, but Wonwoo cuts him off.

 “No I meant...what you said about things falling together on stage. You sound like you spend a lot of time in that kind of setting. I thought theatre studies was more focused on the theory?” Wonwoo hears himself ask, but it’s almost like he’s underwater and hearing his own voice, extricating words. He’s almost sure he knows what’s coming next.

 “Oh! Right, I work at the theatre on campus. It’s not much, just a group of people who’re interested in shows or running them, kinda like High School Musical, if you’ve seen that?” Joshua explains, squinting a little when he mentions High School Musical.

 For just a second, Wonwoo envisions Joshua sitting at an audition table, yelling about a “Twinkle Town Musical” and the evils of cell phones.

 “High School Musical?” Wonwoo asks teasingly, trying his best to combat the tightening feeling in his stomach that threatens to claw its way up his throat.

 “Yeah! Like how Sharpay and Ryan are like, the leads of everything, and they just audition for parts that they want as and when, which pretty much is just all the time...I guess that’s kinda like Jun and Seokmin. We don’t do musicals exclusively, obviously, but we’ve got our own little team of people who make things happen, you know? We don’t have 1 Kelsey, more like, 5 of them honestly. I just stage manage when I can, along with Seungcheol. I don’t suppose you know him?” Joshua asks, and Wonwoo has to remind himself to keep his brain functioning, to not get lost in a narrative of what must surely be an amazing, tight-knit community that he can’t be a part of.

 “I don’t.”

 “Ah that’s too bad, he’s really cool, helps me keep things running. Hey, why don’t you come down to see everything in its full glory one day after class?” Joshua asks, kindly.

 Wonwoo thinks he’s going to combust.

 “I, uh, don’t think -” he begins, but Joshua just waves his hand dismissively.

 “Are you kidding? I’ve seen the way you light up in class whenever they start talking about theory, and you put in endless effort with the assignments. No way you’re convincing me you aren’t interested.” Joshua remarks knowingly, his brow raised, eyes narrowed.

 “I just…” Wonwoo falters. He doesn’t know how to search for an excuse, can’t bring himself to say that he wants that more than anything else in the world, to see what he learns through the guise of academia all happening in real time. And yet.

 “I don’t think it’s right for me,” he finally says, half-heartedly, deflating. He knows its a stupid, awful excuse. He’s fully aware of Joshua looking at him, actually seeing him for the first time, probably thinking that Wonwoo’s another one of those kids with no respect for the arts, thinking that Wonwoo doesn’t actually care about any of this. Inside, he thinks can feel the locked cage in his chest rattle against his ribs. He scuffs the tip of his shoe against the pavement, waiting for the worst.

 He risks a peek upwards when he hears Joshua sigh gently.

 “Look, I know this probably isn’t my place to say, but I can’t help but feel there’s something holding you back. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, of course, but just..just think about it, okay?” Joshua says finally, frowning a little. The concerned look he’s wearing hasn’t gone away yet.

 Wonwoo takes a step back. He smiles politely, says sure, he will, he’ll let Joshua know when he sees him next. He doesn’t have the heart to tell Joshua that he could never agree to willingly step foot in a real theatre, that his parents would most likely already have his head for even taking the one module. He can’t say that this is just one of the many things he wants but cannot have, doesn’t want to dive down the rabbit hole of rationalizing being Practical to Joshua. He won’t let himself have this, because having something means he’ll lose it eventually.

 (Wonwoo also thinks that having something to lose is better than having nothing at all, but that’s something he can’t bring himself to say either. For all intents and purposes, it’s better to let his hands stay tied.)

 


	3. japanese opening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a project, too many late nights, and one (1) new friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wonwoo's texts are in plain, josh's are in italics

**iii. japanese opening**

 

;  _ the japanese opening is similar to opening A, however the strings are picked up with the middle fingers instead of the index fingers. _

 

 

It gets colder and time begins to blur. It’s 2 months into the semester in his first year of university and Wonwoo thinks he’s losing his mind. Mostly, he just thinks that he fucking hates economics more than anything in the world. He goes to all of his lectures and understands absolutely nothing, despite shakily scribbling notes in the margins of his books, free-handed graphs and lines and axes, all converging into a mess of things he just doesn’t understand. And maybe it’s his underlying hatred holding him back, maybe he just needs to try a little harder to accept things (let go) but he can’t bring himself to do it. So he lives on scraps, desperately watching tutorial videos till all hours of the night, builds a pile of papers full of questions upon questions and more things he’ll never know. 

 

It’s midterm season and he thinks everything is falling apart. His econs exam is going to be comprised of 2 different 6 hour papers filled with essay questions, and he can’t bring himself to try. He hates himself for it, sometimes. He put everything he had into going to university, to Making It - he threw away time with his family, his friends, himself - all for the sake of a better future. A future that he’s supposed to want but he can’t do that either. He can’t imagine himself sitting stagnant for 12 hours, writing about things he has no knowledge about, till his wrist throbs and he can’t unclench his hands and his fingers go dry and it all wells up in his chest as he thinks “I can’t do this anymore.” Partially, he thinks he’s being lazy, and overdramatic. Sometimes, he gets so angry at himself, just thinking, why can’t you do it? You don’t rely on motivation, it’s always been about discipline, you know this, so why do you keep going backwards?

 

(Wonwoo can’t bring himself to answer that. It’s too much of an indulgence, letting himself feel how badly he wants anything but this. The more he imagines an alternative, the worse it gets.) 

 

The only classes he’s doing fine in are intro to theatre and horticulture. Wonwoo can’t say he’s surprised - those are the only 2 he actually picked for himself. Horticulture had been simple, interesting, a fill-in-the-blanks type midterm, easily studied for with flashcards and diagrams, a concrete answer for each situation. Theatre was more of a challenge. The professor had given them an option as to what they wanted to do - either a critical piece one on of the plays they studied, or they could do a creative writing application piece, write their own play. 

 

To Wonwoo, it was the perfect excuse. He could always take a literature class next semester, write as many critical essays as he wanted to. But to write a play, that’d probably be the closest thing he had to a chance. And given that this was probably going to be his only opportunity, he figures, fuck it, why not?

 

(Because if his parents find out he doesn’t doubt that they’d kill him, but for once, he’s willing to risk it. It’s only one class, and after this there’d only be one more exam. They wouldn’t need to know.)

 

(Wonwoo thinks he’s living through loopholes again, but he doesn’t feel like dwelling on it.) 

 

The piece is due in 3 weeks time. Wonwoo pushes it to the back of his mind and figures he’ll just study for econs first, figure that out later. He spends his time amongst open textbooks and highlighters and does as many practice papers as he can and prays that he doesn’t screw this one up.

 

The piece is due in 2 weeks time and Wonwoo has no idea what the fuck he’s going to write about. He’s filled 3 blank pieces of paper with more question marks and zig-zagging lines than words, and now he’s thinking he’s made an awful mistake with this. He’s never set foot in a theatre. He doesn’t know how to fit things on a stage, how to maximize a space. He knows this piece doesn’t have to be perfect, that it’s just an elective, a requirement, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t mean the world to him. 

 

Its 3am and the piece is due in a week and Wonwoo finally snaps. He’s run dry, out of ideas and time and patience, and all he wants is guidance. In the back of his mind, there’s an ever-present voice telling him he’s utterly and completely fucked, and he doesn’t disagree. He knows he needs help, he needs it now, and there’s only one person he can ask. 

  
  


(03:24) joshua 

 

(03:24) are you awake? 

 

                                                                      (03:25) _ yeah, what’s up? _

 

(03:26) remember that time you said i could 

come see the theatre if i wanted to 

 

(03:26) is that offer still open

                                                                     (03:28)  _ of course it is _

                                                                     (03:28) _ is it the assignment? _

 

(03:30) yeah i dont know what to do

 

(03:30) i dont even have a plot or anything

its driving me insane 

                                                                     (03:32) _ i’ll meet you tomorrow afternoon and we can _

_                                                                                  talk about it _

 

                                                                      (03:32)  _ i’ll brainstorm with you, and then if you’re   _

_                                                                                 free after that there’ll be a rehearsal so you  _

_                                                                                 can tag along if you’d like _

 

(03:34) that’d be amazing, thank you 

 

                                                                     (03:34) _ no problem _

                                                                      (03:34)  _ go to sleep wonwoo _

 

(03:35) :-/ you too 

(03:35) goodnight 

  
  


The next day finds Wonwoo sitting at the wooden benches, his journal flung open. He figured it’d be a good place to start, going back to the rawest parts of him, things he finds familiarity with, instead of going too far. Really, all he’s ended up doing is rereading his entries from a year ago, rushed and distinctly empty. Everything he wrote was about what he was studying at the time, maybe a book or five that he’d really enjoyed, a record of one or two particularly full days. As the year went by he wrote less and less, tapering off into a complete radio silence until after his exams. Looking at it now, it just makes him feel sick, watching that progression from who he used to be, full of life, to who he is now. He doesn’t really know what to do with that. 

 

“Hey.” Wonwoo looks up, startled from his reverie, to see Joshua sliding into the bench opposite him, setting down his messenger bag and his books. 

 

“Do you have anything so far?” Joshua asks, setting out his own pencil case, and then fixing Wonwoo with a gaze he knows he can’t run from. 

 

“I tried coming up with some stuff the past couple weeks but it all just doesn’t seem to lead me anywhere, y’know? It’s like I’m going in circles with this,” Wonwoo admits, fiddling with the open page of his journal. He folds it in his fingers, focuses on how easily the paper creases with a little too much force, anything to avoid thinking about how inevitably this is all going to crash and burn. 

 

“Have you ever done creative writing before?” Joshua asks, opening a pad of lined paper and twiddling his pen. Wonwoo shakes his head. 

 

“Okay, look, I’ll start you off on some guidelines. You’ve never done this before, so maybe your best plan of action right now is to write what you know.” Joshua says, scribbling as he talks. 

 

“It doesn’t have to be too meaningful, or life-changing, or any of those other big things you’re probably worrying yourself sick about,” he continues, looking back up at Wonwoo. “It just has to be something you know, something you’re familiar with. Like, what do you value?” 

 

“My family,” Wonwoo responds automatically, and Joshua smiles softly. 

 

“Good, there’s a start. What else?” he prompts, mapping it down. 

 

“Learning, I guess?” Wonwoo says, and cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth, because god, that sounded ridiculously lame. 

 

But all Joshua does is raise an eyebrow and keep smiling, writing down whatever Wonwoo says. He seems like he really wants to help, and there is a moment where Wonwoo considers saying “you, for being my friend, for helping me when I needed it the most these few months”, but he bites it down. 

 

They sit for hours, under the clouds of a cool Wednesday afternoon when neither of them have any classes. Joshua throws out prospective storylines, themes, characters, and Wonwoo nods and takes everything down laboriously, interjecting at times with his own ideas. For those few hours, even though all they did was schoolwork - Wonwoo can’t help but think this is the happiest he’s been in a while. He thinks that doing this, as tough as it was at that moment, makes him feel re-energized. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’ll give this a chance, this whole idea of doing something he loves and truly cares about, maybe even wouldn’t mind devoting his life to it. 

 

And then Joshua asks him to walk with him to the theatre, and it would be a bald-faced lie for him to say that he didn’t feel like his heart was about to beat out of his chest. Maybe he’s being too dramatic about this, investing too much of his time and emotions into it, but the years of longing have piled up in a dam in his chest that’s right about to overflow. For the longest time, his life was defined by fear, not wanting to be too caught up in things, lest he lose sight of what truly mattered (a career, the difference between a life and a life worth living) and he thinks maybe this time, he’ll give himself a chance. 

 

When he tentatively steps into the theatre, looking back and forth and up and down like something’s going to jump at him, Joshua lets out a tinkling laugh that resonates through the hall and Wonwoo swears he can feel it in his bones. 

 

(He knows he’s doing it again, getting too passionate, letting things envelope him far too deeply, but he can’t bring himself to hold back this one time.) 

 

The theatre itself is small, nothing too special. It’s got rows of red folded seats lined all the way to the back of the hall, just like High School Musical, Wonwoo remembers, smiling to himself. There’s the lights hanging overhead, massive and foreboding. The sound booth is small, tucked away behind the chairs, a tiny speck of light in a window above metres of darkness. The stage itself, silent and empty and waiting to be filled. Joshua flicks a switch and then the whole thing is enveloped in light and Wonwoo really, really loves this. He can’t imagine going on without it, now that he’s here, seen all of this. He can’t imagine how beautiful it’ll be with all of the life surrounding it, props and lights and the commanding timbre of voices echoing through it. 

 

Joshua beckons him to the stage, and Wonwoo basically trips over himself trying to get up as fast as he cans. Joshua talks about spacing and stage directions and a string of technicalities, but it’s all being drowned out by the waves in Wonwoo’s thoughts telling him that this is something he has to do, and how could he ever let this go?

 

As if that wasn’t all enough, there’s a sound from backstage and Wonwoo turns and there’s a boy bounding out towards them. His throat close up and for a moment, he freezes.

 

“I thought I heard you here,” the boy says to Joshua, smiling, and Wonwoo wonders if all theatre people have twinkling eyes. 

 

And then the boy turns to face him and Wonwoo thinks he’s one of the most beautiful people he’s ever seen. Not in a way that’s terrifying, like it usually is, but friendly, open. 

 

The boy reaches out a hand to Wonwoo and says “Hi, I’m Soonyoung. I do wardrobe here,” and then grins again. When Wonwoo puts out his hand, the boy slaps it gently with his, still smiling, and Wonwoo feels like the floor is falling out from beneath him. 

 

Joshua’s caught on at this point, finally seeing that Wonwoo is a little (extremely) overwhelmed, and hastily makes introductions. The boy (Soonyoung, Soonyoung, Soonyoung) nods and smiles, tilting his head when Joshua explains that Wonwoo is a friend from class, that he’s helping him with an assignment. Wonwoo makes himself focus on the tips of Soonyoung’s ears, a point slightly to the left of where he stands, just so it won’t look like he’s staring. 

 

“I had to come in early, Jun accidentally ripped the sleeve off his shirt and I didn’t get the chance to fix it yesterday,” Soonyoung says, rolling his eyes. Joshua snorts at this, turning back to the table just below the stage.

 

“He was doing his monologue and he kept gesturing everywhere, and I told him, ‘It’s fragile, so don’t fling your arms about too much’ and he does it anyway! It just flew off his arm, it was the worst,” Soonyoung continues, speaking to Wonwoo directly this time. 

 

(Wonwoo worries that his heart is going to come up his throat any moment now.) 

 

“Me and Jeonghan had to run on-stage just to-” Soonyoung continues, until he’s cut off by Joshua dryly saying “Jeonghan and I,”, but he just clicks his tongue, waves dismissively, and continues. 

 

Joshua continues sorting through piles of paper on the table, and Wonwoo lets himself fall into listening to Soonyoung tell him about all the little incidents that happen at the theatre, following him backstage. Wonwoo sits with his chin on his knee as Soonyoung carefully sews the sleeve back on, listening to ridiculous stories about people named Seokmin and Seungkwan (Soonyoung’s best friends), the antics of Mingyu and Minghao (the two prop-makers who are simultaneously attached at the hip and also the most bitter when they fight), Seungcheol and Joshua on too much caffeine, Jihoon and Vernon playing Drake at full blast from the sound booth for no reason whatsoever. 

 

Wonwoo thinks he could listen to Soonyoung talk forever. 

 

They’re in the middle of joking around, Soonyoung imitating Seokmin when he lost a shoe during a performance, when Joshua pops his head around the door and says “Rehearsal’s starting in 5,” and Wonwoo physically aches with how much he doesn’t want to leave. 

 

He doesn’t feel like telling Soonyoung this though, so he smiles apologetically and half-heartedly says goodbye and takes a seat. He watches the show with half his attention, the rest of it backstage thinking of Soonyoung, how vibrant he was, and how Wonwoo would consider giving the world to see him again.

(Wonwoo thinks he’s been diving headfirst into an awful lot of things that afternoon.) 

 

The show flows without too much of a hitch, Joshua out of sight, the leads Jun and Seokmin in full control of the atmosphere, the harsh lights of the theatre aglow. Wonwoo’s caught up in all of it, forcing his attention back to the stage, admiring how well the space was used, how fluently the actors knew their lines, smiling whenever there was a costume change, remembering the stories Soonyoung told him about how hectic it could be. He imagines Soonyoung backstage, wrestling another tight costume onto them in a flurry of limbs, the Tasmanian Devil of the university theatre’s wardrobe crew. The thought makes him smile inadvertently. 

 

When the curtain finally falls, Wonwoo is still for a moment, and then he claps until his palms are red, a solitary member of the audience, half-hidden in shadow, unable to keep the smile off his face till his cheeks hurt. 

  
  


When he goes back to the dorm that night, giddy with happiness, he sits at his desk for a moment, and calls his parents. 

 

Sure, his hands shake, and he’s so nauseous he’s almost sure he’s about to throw up, and his heart is pounding, and he doesn’t know where he’s going with this. 

 

What’s he supposed to say with this? That changing his (undeclared) major was his big flying leap out of the nest, disobeying his parents?

 

Just thinking about being labelled disobedient is making his stomach churn. He knows his parents are paying for all of this, that they were so happy he was going to university, building the foundations for a life. Wonwoo just doesn’t know how to summon enough words to tell them this isn’t the life he wants. He doesn’t want to be doing a 9-5 desk job, crunching numbers, predicting business cycles. Maybe two months ago he would’ve sat down by himself, had this same internal predicament, and then chickened out by convincing himself that he could live without doing what he really wanted for a while longer, not wanting to whine and complain. Would’ve made himself small, stood up a little straighter, and put his best into what he had. 

 

It’s so stupid to think that the experience of that afternoon would’ve been so monumental in changing his life, but it was. Now that he knows what’s out there, what could be his, he wants it so badly. He remembers the goosebumps he got at the end of the rehearsal, despite watching the chaos unfold below him after the show, a congregation of Joshua altering cues, Jihoon coming down and folding his arms as he watched Joshua, Seungcheol wringing his hands in the corner of the fray. 

 

He thinks of what it’d be like to call the show himself, to pull the strings that bring it all together, the sheer exhilaration of watching the curtain fall at the end of  a perfect, successful show.

 

He’s tired of fear, of being dominated by it, of barely being alive all the time. He’d just had the most vibrant afternoon of his life, and he’d be damned if he was foolish enough to let that potential for life slide right out of his hands.

 

It isn’t too late, he tells himself. He knows this is a sacrifice he’d have to make at some point, and it had become glaringly obvious the minute he entered university. Surrounded by people who were relentlessly pursuing their passion, his own weaknesses were brought into the light, emphasized further. 

 

For once, he lets himself want something. 


	4. navajo leap

iv. navajo leap

 ; _given two loops on one finger, the lower loop is moved over the upper loop and released from the finger._

 

“And this is really what you want?” his mom asks, her concerned face dangerously close to her phone’s camera as she asks Wonwoo the same question for what seems to be the 5th time that night. Wonwoo shifts back involuntarily, instead choosing to focus on his tight grip against his desk, eyes away from his laptop. He’d rather not be looking at his parents at the moment. All he can do is muster the tiniest of nods, pursing his lips. He risks another glance upwards, and finds himself face-to-face with his father.

 

It’s not as bad as he thought it would be. He was expecting his dad to be the most disappointed, given that all of this economics stuff was his idea to begin with. So far though, his dad has barely said a word. He’s just had his brow furrowed, and fixed Wonwoo with a stare he can’t really decipher. It takes Wonwoo three tries, pleadingly saying “Dad?” into the empty air, hoping he’ll get a response. Of course, he’s not expecting an overjoyed response, but he figured it’d be easier on his conscience if he told his parents about the whole I’m-picking-a-new-major-even-though-I-know-this-wasn’t-The-Plan thing. After all, they’re the ones putting him through university. It’s their money, their investment in his potential. They deserved to know.

 

“Why do you want to do this, Wonwoo?” his father finally says, after what looks like an eternal deliberation of what to say. Wonwoo would be lying if he said that question hadn’t caught him off guard. He was really expecting more of an onslaught of frustration and disappointment, not what seemed to be curiousity. Wonwoo hopes it was curiousity.

 

“I just really, really like it. I took one of the modules these past couple months, as an elective thing. You didn’t really talk to me about those, so I just did it. And I ended up really liking it. Even the midterm, I had a lot of fun writing it. The professor’s really interesting too, and I can see myself really investing into this. That’s why,” he says eventually, hoping that it’s a good enough explanation. He doesn’t mention the lights of the campus theatre, the warmth that pooled in his stomach just from witnessing a simple full dress rehearsal, the tug in his chest as the curtain fell. He doesn’t want his parents to think he’s lost it entirely, waxing poetic about the smell of the backstage area and Soonyoung’s laughter bubbling upwards from the wardrobe area.

 

“And that warrants devoting your life to it? This isn’t some kind of stint you can just fool around with. Didn’t we already decide what you were supposed to do?” is what his father says, and Wonwoo feels a strange contraction right in the middle of his chest all the way up his throat, because how could he have hoped for this to go any other way. There’s a strange comfort in knowing that at the very least, he had a vague idea of how this would proceed. It’s better than walking in blind.

 

Wonwoo spends the rest of the call averting his gaze, quietly murmuring that he knows, yes he understands where his parents are coming from, yes it was wrong to do this behind their back without asking them first. He focuses on imagining himself shrinking, until he’s nothing but a tiny speck in his desk chair, away from the harsh gazes of his parents and the impending decisions of university life.

 

It’s only when he vaguely hears his father say something along the lines of “be practical” that something in his chest breaks, and he really, really can’t do this anymore. He’s light-headed enough to feel like he’s inhaling smoke even though there’s nothing, it’s just him, and there’s that ringing in his ears again. He’s tired. He just wants _out_ of this stupid cycle, more than anything. He’s sick of finding things he likes, and crushing their wings in his hands in pursuit of success, of what’s supposed to be happiness.

 

There is a break.

 

And then Wonwoo finds himself letting all of the words he’s kept in his chest spill out, a trunk full of butterflies, and it feels better than he could’ve ever imagined. There’s fear, and there’s a sick feeling building all the way up his spine, but he’s free. It’s finally out in the open, and maybe it’s hard to stop thinking like he owes the world something, owes his parents something, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

  


It feels like hours pass between Wonwoo essentially spilling his guts and his parents nodding begrudgingly. He knows they aren’t entirely convinced, and hell, maybe they never will be but for once he feels happy and shiny and like his life is his own. Every couple seconds, he has to shake himself with the reminder that he’s _free_ , that everything he’s ever wanted isn’t a far-off speck on an unintelligible map anymore. It’s a clear route winding through to a destination, and he’ll be damned if that doesn’t taste like freedom.

 

For once, Wonwoo lets himself rest peacefully, thinking of the curve of Joshua’s smile and Soonyoung’s bubbling laughter as he falls asleep.

  


When he meets Joshua the next day, tucked away in the campus coffee shop, he’s fidgeting non-stop, his foot tapping the legs of the table, his fingers running their course over the straps of his backpack. As Joshua slides into his seat, he raises a curious eyebrow at Wonwoo’s suspiciously hyper antics, but says nothing about it.

 

“So you said you had news?” Joshua asks, leaning forward, and Wonwoo can’t help but melt into his presence. He knows he’s being a little dramatic, but Joshua’s been an unfailingly good friend through the past few months, a familiar guiding presence that Wonwoo can’t help but sink right into - like the soft comfort of the cold side of the pillow after a long day, he thinks.

 

“Yeah, I called my parents last night,” Wonwoo starts, tapping his fingers on the edge of his glass, and then fiddling with his straw and letting the still-solid ice cubes clink against each other. And then, Joshua’s hand is on his, stilling the motion.

 

“And?” Joshua asks softly, and Wonwoo is hyper aware of their hands touching, what the _fuck_.

 

“I talked to them about changing my prospective major,” Wonwoo eventually chokes out, and he’s itching to get his fingers moving again. At this, Joshua leans back, looking visibly stressed. Wonwoo takes this as a sign to continue.

 

“I think I pretty much convinced them to let me do it? I mean, obviously they weren’t overly thrilled about it and I got the usual lecture about how I’m gonna be jobless forever and end up dead in a ditch but - I did it.” Wonwoo finishes, letting it all out in one breath.

 

At this, Joshua perks up.

 

“Wonwoo, that’s great!” he says, and finally smiles, a real, bright smile, not one of the many small, comforting smiles he’s had to feebly offer Wonwoo the past few months. Wonwoo can’t help but grin back, running his hands over the condensation of his glass, a grounding reminder that all of this is real, and it’s more than he could’ve asked for two months ago.

 

“Does this mean you’ll hang out at the theatre more often?” Joshua asks teasingly, leaning forward on his elbows.

 

“Actually, I was gonna ask you about that,” Wonwoo mumbles, leaning back into his seat as he remembers what he really came to ask. “I know the theatre takes interns and stuff right? Like Seungkwan and Vernon?” he starts, hoping to god he got their names right, because if he didn’t it’d somehow make this whole experience more mortifying than it already was. All Joshua does is nod encouragingly though, so he has to be on the right track.

 

“So..does that mean you take interns for stage management too? Or is it only for like, the backstage crew and stuff?” Wonwoo ends awkwardly, cringing inwardly at his clumsy use of words, obviously lacking the repertoire of knowledge about theatrical terms.

 

“Sure,” Joshua says, startling him. “Right now it’s only me and Seungcheol, because he’s the ASM, but neither of us have an intern shadowing us, if that’s what you’re asking,” Joshua continues, looking steadily at Wonwoo. It looks like he’ll have to ask outright, or he’ll keep dancing around it and eventually out of it.

 

“Do you think I could be a stage management intern?” he finally says, and he can’t help but hold his breath and avert his gaze because this is the second time in less than 24 hours that he was asking for something totally crazy.

 

“Well, yeah of course why not? Wonwoo, if you really want to dive into it, you should. I mean, it’ll definitely take a while for you to learn the ropes, stage management is no easy feat,” Joshua says, chuckling dryly as he rubs his fist against his eye, and Wonwoo’s gaze is drawn to the dark rings that seem to perpetually sit under Joshua’s eyes. “But look, if you’re interested, I don’t mind it. Most of the intern stuff is really just part-time crewing, so it won’t cut too much into your schedule.”

 

Wonwoo finds himself nodding along eagery, his heart thudding away in his chest. Another small victory, another step closer to where he needs to be.

 

Of course, he doesn’t expect it to be anything but unrelentingly difficult, a million things to memorize and manage at once. From what little he’s seen from Joshua, almost permanently hunched over his cuebook, scribbling frantically, ink stains criss-crossing over his fingers - it’s all-consuming. It looks like something that requires an insane level of intensity, of commitment. And maybe Joshua doesn’t look like someone who’s particularly intense, someone who seems so twinkly-eyed and gentle with his rings and earrings, every part of his appearance seeming to say “i’m delicate!” but from the first day Wonwoo witnesses him stage manage, he calls bullshit. Joshua is ridiculously hard-working, stringent and sharp-eyed, catching Seokmin’s momentary fumble as he forgets a cue, stepping to the side a moment too soon, emitting an annoyed huff. Other times, he’s had to stop Mingyu and Minghao from bickering over the proportions of a particular prop, the texture of a tree, instead squatting between them momentarily to snappily offer a solution, and then dashing off to another corner of the stage in an instant.

  


Wonwoo feels like he’s in a hurricane, experiencing 50 million things at once, different aspects of a show falling together before him, and Joshua is pulling on every single string to exist. They rush by each and every backstage department, ending with checking on costume progress. Meaning they had to stop by the wardrobe department. Meaning that Soonyoung would be there, with his sweaty bangs and sweatpants pulled up to his calves, swearing as he inevitably pricked himself with the needle .

 

(Wonwoo will never admit it, but he could physically feel his heart speed up at the mention of the wardrobe department, because that meant Soonyoung, and Soonyoung meant. Something. Wonwoo’s working on it.)

 

To Wonwoo’s surprise, when they get there, there are two other people there besides Soonyoung, two other people he’s sure he’s never seen before. The man leaning on the wall, gently sewing patches onto a denim jacket has short hair that lines his face, a light brown. He’s sitting with his legs spread out lazily, the tip of his sneaker just touching the other man’s thigh.

 

One of them must be Jeonghan, the wardrobe in-charge, he thinks, remembering his previous visit to the theatre. He gives Soonyoung a small smile from behind Joshua, waving his notebook shyly.

 

(He hopes he isn’t being delusional, imagining things, but Soonyoung’s face lights up at the sight of his notebook.)

 

Meanwhile, Joshua has cast a disapproving glare towards the larger of the two guys, frowning.

 

“Seungcheol, what are you doing here?”

 

‘Ah, that must mean the one leaning against the wall must be Jeonghan,’ Wonwoo notes mentally.

 

Seungcheol laughs sheepishly, standing quickly and effectively knocking Jeonghan’s foot off his thigh. Jeonghan whines, and turns to Joshua.

 

“He was just helping us with the costumes, Josh. You weren’t here yet, it’s not like he had anything to do anyway,” Jeonghan huffs, setting down the jacket he was working on. Wonwoo catches Soonyoung’s eye, and has to stifle a laugh as Soonyoung rolls his eyes.

 

“You wanna hear my version? I think you guys were flirting, _again_ , and anyone with a working pair of eyes could see that. Get back to work,” Joshua says, and even though his tone is sharp, Wonwoo’s sure he’s not the only one that could sense an underlying playfulness to it. Seungcheol salutes him teasingly, and gives Wonwoo a small wave before heading off to wherever it is assistant stage managers go. Jeonghan sighs forlornly, and goes back to his work. Then, as soon as Joshua turns his back, Wonwoo hurries forward and squats down next to Soonyoung, who nudges him playfully.

 

“What’re you doing back here so soon?” Soonyoung asks, raising an eyebrow. Wonwoo can’t help but notice there’s a little slit shaved into said eyebrow, and it knocks all the breathe out of his chest for a second.

 

“I’m interning here. Under Joshua,” he eventually chokes out, clinging on to his notebook and begging himself to not look at Soonyoungs fucking eyebrow again before he loses it entirely.

 

“Oh! I thought you were just observing the last time, what made you change your mind?” Soonyoung asks.

 

“I changed what I was supposed to major in,” Wonwoo replies sheepishly, huffing a little and rocking on his toes.

 

Soonyoung looks at him again, like he somehow knows there’s a story there, knows there’s something that Wonwoo isn’t telling him, but he nods and smiles brightly and Wonwoo forgets about it instantly.

 

“That means we’ll get to hang out more often and when Joshua goes to die in his usual corner and stress out, you and Cheol get to come help me and Jeonghan!” he says a little too loudly, and Joshua turns on his heel to glare at him.

 

“Stop being a bad influence over my intern,” Joshua scolds, and then gestures at Wonwoo to follow him. Wonwoo feels a little tug in his chest (almost like he doesn’t want to leave Soonyoung’s side yet, _or_ maybe it just feels good to stop for a second after running around all afternoon) but he gets up anyway. He can hear Soonyoung moving around, fiddling with something behind him, and he feels a slip of paper being pressed into his palm.

 

“Since we’re working together, might as well. Gimme a call soon, partner, I’ll have you settled right in,” Soonyoung says jokingly, putting on an exaggerated Southern drawl as he says ‘partner’, and as Wonwoo waves to Jeonghan and Soonyoung, he knows he’s a million percent screwed over absolutely all of this.


	5. rattlesnake and boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for living in the warmest parts, and for sharing bowls of pasta over stupid conversations

v. rattlesnake and boy

; _the "rattlesnake" is at the left side of the figure, the "boy" at the right side. the snake can be made to run up and "bite the boy" by releasing the loop from the left thumb and pulling on the left index loop, at the same time quickly and alternately separating and bringing together the right thumb and index._

 

The end-of-term break sneaks up on Wonwoo, too caught up in the dog-eared pages of books, the little dots on his phone indicating deadlines, the dryness of paper against his hands as he sorts through the endless piles on his desk. It’s even more of a whirlwind than before, but it’s grounding. It’s an intense kind of certainty and Wonwoo is more than fine with going along with it. It catches him off-guard when he overhears his peers making plans as he leaves the lecture halls some days, talking about how much they miss their mother’s cooking, how it’ll be nice to finally sleep in a comfortable bed with no annoying roommate, jostling comfortably as they go. They’re all still drawn to home, to the comfort it brings them, what they associate with it. Given what Wonwoo’s just done, he doesn’t even want to begin considering going home for break. He’s barely spoken to his parents since the phone call with them where he dropped The Bomb, and at best his mother texts him the same, perfunctory things - ‘How’s school?’ ‘Have you been eating?’ ‘Do your best.’ - it’s not much, even though it’s not like he ever had a very close relationship with his parents either. He didn’t have the same experiences as other kids he knew, who called their parents nearly every day, babbling excitedly and nearly spilling over with updates about college life relayed through a pixelated screen. As far as he’s concerned, he’s always thought of himself living a half life, split neatly down the middle between friends and family, not meant to mix. This whole ordeal was like forcing the two together in a strange, wholly unpleasant mess - like mashed potatoes and chocolate sauce. Separately, they’re enjoyable, but together they’re a complete disaster that he can barely fathom willingly trying. He can’t imagine what going home will be like. He doesn’t want to deal with the obligatory gathering at the dinner table, the tines of his fork scratching against the plate as he tries desperately to pass the time without making himself a target. If he can, he’ll avoid home altogether. For now. Just until this feel a little less raw, till it blows over. He doesn’t want to be the one responsible for causing any more ruckus. (or: he can’t bring himself to be even more of a disappointment.)

 

Staying on campus is the right thing to do. He’ll manage.

 

For the most part, it’s quiet. Nearly everyone has gone home, including Joshua. He doesn’t really know anyone else besides the passing people in some of his classes, and Soonyoung’s number sits untouched in his phone. He hasn’t been able to bring himself to send anything, and he always just ends up clicking away from the messaging bubble. Anything he comes up with just ends up sounding silly to him, like “Hey, I think you’re really cute, and also maybe we’d make great friends, wanna hang out sometime?”. He’s being ridiculous and he knows it, the reminder inching its way to the front of his brain whenever he finds himself instinctively pressing Soonyoung’s contact to open a chat. He must’ve typed a million beginnings by now, and each one still isn’t right. If anything, he’s glad Soonyoung doesn’t have his number. It gives him a little peace of mind knowing that Soonyoung isn’t curled up somewhere, his cheeks all squished up in amusement as he watches Wonwoo’s little ellipses bubble pop up and disappear over and over again.

  


Despite the few people who stayed behind, campus feels remote and cold. It feels strange to walk into the cafeteria and not bump into someone from the theatre, and instead being left to sadly scoop cold soup into your bowl and stare out onto the quad. There seems to be a dull ringing in the background of everything Wonwoo sets his eyes upon - from the empty skeletons of trees clawing into the sky, to the lines of benches that sit strewn about, left behind by the last rush of students eager to leave campus for home. There’s something strange and uncomfortable about seeing objects strewn about like that, with the last wisps of their occupants seemingly still lingering. It’s like going to a hospital you know to be abandoned, only to see a gurney in the middle of the hall, strewn medical equipment everywhere. Of course, haunted hospitals and empty campuses are two entirely different things, but the same kind of loneliness seems to latch itself onto everything. It feels like maybe he’ll never be warm again in his life.

 

Naturally, after a while, he gives up going out of his building. He stays in his room, taps away at the games on his phone, reads, eats when he wants to. At some point, he thinks his tailbone must’ve fused with the pillows of his bed, and it feels like the cricks in his back have permanently lodged themselves there. And yet, for some reason, he can’t muster the courage to go out to the empty campus, knowing that there’s nearly no one else around. No Joshua to run him through technical terms of the theatre as they sit cross-legged on the floor, reaching for cold coffees that leave wet rings in the carpet. No Seungcheol and Jeonghan giggling about something stupid behind the curtains. No Mingyu and Minghao going from bickering to giggling together in 2 minutes flat, covered in paint. (No Soonyoung to possibly eagerly invite him for a meal somewhere, bouncing on the balls on his feet, the way he always seems to be moving.)

 

It’s only later that week that he’s forcibly made to leave his room after the smoke detector begins shrieking, all because he turned away for a second and forgot to do his usual flail-his-arms-until-the-steam-dissipates routine. Regrettably, all he can do is grab a book and his nearly-dead phone, slouching to the common area to wait till its sorted out and he can go back to wrapping himself up in the solitude of his room. It’s not that he likes being in there all the time - it’s just a little more tolerable than the obvious emptiness of everywhere else, of being without.

 

It’s thinking like that that makes him startle a little as he rounds the corner to the common area, seeing a flash of dark purple hair on a frame he’d be able to recognize anywhere. (He should be able to anyway, he’s spent so long boring holes into Soonyoung’s back in the past few weeks that it’s borderline ridiculous.) Soonyoung’s leaning over the sink, tiptoeing as he tries (unsuccessfully) to pour what looks like boiling water out of the pot he’s holding, without a strainer. It’s only when Soonyoung lets out a loud string of curses after possibly scalding himself that Wonwoo is uprooted from his place in the empty corridor, rushing forward to check on him.

 

Soonyoung has this adorable shocked expression on his face, his eyes widening just a little as he realizes exactly who’s standing before him, his hand being carefully examined by Wonwoo. Wonwoo avoids his gaze entirely, focusing on checking to see how bad the burn was, before gently nudging Soonyoung’s hand under the cold spray of the tap. It takes a minute for Wonwoo to pause and finally let go of Soonyoung’s hand, sheepishly pulling back. Everything feels weird and hot and its like he’s witnessing all of this from very far away, just a little more muted than usual. All he can do is quietly shake his hands of water, nervously run them up and down his shirt, wanting them to be dry right this second. (Somewhere in the back of his mind, his 10-year old self is yelling about how they “basically just held hands!!” He tries not to think about that.)

 

Soonyoung spends a few seconds just blinking at his hand, limp in the same position as when Wonwoo had let go. And then, he just turns to Wonwoo and smiles his usual blindingly brilliant smile, the one that makes his eyes twinkle too, and Wonwoo goes blank.

 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Soonyoung says, because of course he’d say something like that, fixing Wonwoo with a curious stare and Wonwoo can’t deal with this because he didn’t mentally prepare himself for it. He was going to come to the common area, sit and slouch and read all by himself because that’s what he does, and the universe had to hit him with this instead. With Soonyoung and his stupid purple hair and stupid pot of probably-overcooked pasta. Not that Wonwoo knows what that looks like. He just thinks that maybe Soonyoung is the kind of guy who overcooks his pasta, on purpose.

 

“You too,” Wonwoo starts, looks away, “What are you still doing here?”. He hopes it doesn’t sound rude, or like he doesn’t want Soonyoung around, but he can’t help his curiousity.

 

“My parents went on vacation for a bit, and I didn’t wanna go home to an empty house,” he says, before turning to poke at one of the pieces of penne in the pot. Wonwoo watches him silently fiddle with the fork as he wrestles to spear a piece without it sliding everywhere. It’s almost like watching a cat chase a laser pointer, except. Except it’s Soonyoung and pasta, and Wonwoo really shouldn’t be finding something like that endearing.

 

“Ah,” Wonwoo replies intelligently, because that’s all he can manage right now. He focuses on fiddling with the sharp spine of his hardcover instead. At this, Soonyoung turns back to him.

 

“Sorry, what about you? None of Mummy’s cooking to go home to?” Soonyoung asks, not unkindly. His face goes all scrunched when he says the latter, and Wonwoo can’t help the smile that forms on his face. It’s a funny thing, the way that works - Soonyoung just seems to have a contagious kind of smile, even when he’s teasing and its not entirely genuine.

 

“Nah, she can’t cook anyway,” Wonwoo deadpans, leaning against the stove countertop for a second before flinching back at how hot it was still. This makes Soonyoung laugh, as Wonwoo frowns and rubs his elbow.

“Listen, here’s a suggestion: since you don’t have any of that home-cooked goodness, and I probably made way too much pasta - wanna share?” Soonyoung asks, gesturing to the pot as he spears another bunch of plain penne and pops it into his mouth. He talks with his mouth full, but Wonwoo can’t bring himself to point it out. All he can think about is thanking all his stars that the pasta Soonyoung made wasn’t spaghetti, lest they end up in some kind of Lady and the Tramp situation.

 

“What, plain penne? That sounds delicious, thanks,” Wonwoo manages to quip back, earning an eyeroll from Soonyoung.

 

“I’ve got some cream sauce in the fridge over there, I was gonna add that. You’re not allergic, are you?” Soonyoung asks, already reaching into the fridge. Wonwoo answers in the negative, watching Soonyoung pour a generous dollop of white sauce onto the heaping pile of penne, and it just seems ridiculous that someone so small could have thought he could finish the entire portion by himself. They end up just sitting at one of the wooden tables, poking idly at the pasta in the bowl between them.

 

“So, what’s the real reason you’re here?” Soonyoung asks, two bites in. Wonwoo pauses his quest to spear his fork through one of the holes of the pasta, glancing up at Soonyoung, trying to work an exit route. Soonyoung’s gaze doesn’t waver though, even as he stuffs his mouth with pasta, and Wonwoo sighs.

 

“Remember when I told you I changed what I was supposed to major in?” Wonwoo asks, and then continues when Soonyoung nods in the affirmative. “Yeah, I only just told my parents about it. It was a pretty major change, I guess, and I just don’t want to have to go home and deal with them trying to constantly talk me out of it because they think I’m gonna end up jobless forever,” Wonwoo trails off, going back to messing around with the food.  

 

Soonyoung’s quiet for awhile, and Wonwoo thinks (hopes) that they’ve moved past the topic. He doesn’t know why he’s so uncomfortable discussing it with Soonyoung - he’d been fine spilling his guts to Joshua, asking him for guidance. Maybe it’s because Soonyoung has always seemed so grounded in what he does, so sure of carving himself a path to success, and Wonwoo can’t stand looking like a fool next to him. Maybe it’s because he has this silly innate desire to impress Soonyoung, for whatever unfathomable reason. Maybe it’s because Wonwoo’s the one who thinks he might end up jobless forever.

 

“What was the change, if you don’t mind me asking?” Soonyoung tilts his head as he asks, and Wonwoo can’t help the warmth that pools in his chest. It’s cute, and a little endearing, and just an unexpected gesture from Soonyoung - always so intense as he crafted costumes, going over the precision of his stitches, eyebrows knitted together and eyes alight as he assesses the fit of a piece. He has to answer.

 

“My parents wanted me to do an economics-based degree. Something disciplined, like accountancy, you know? I just wanted to do theatre-” Wonwoo cuts himself off, leaning back in his chair. Saying it like that, out loud, juxtaposing the two - it’s glaringly obvious how stupid he sounds.

 

“Well, aren’t you living the High School Musical AU of everyone’s dreams,” Soonyoung teases, smiling brightly, as if he could sense Wonwoo’s discomfort and was trying his best to expel it.

 

“I guess so. Does that make me Troy Bolton, basketball player extraordinaire?” Wonwoo plays along, because how much could this hurt anyway? At least Soonyoung isn’t telling him how stupid he’s being, and how he should just stick to one path.

 

“I dunno, does that make me Gabriella?” Soonyoung muses, and Wonwoo almost chokes on his pasta.

 

Soonyoung immediately backtracks. “Not that I’m trying to imply anything, I just figured, since I guess I was the first person at the theatre you made friends with besides Josh - who, by the way, is definitely Ms Darbus-” By this point, Wonwoo can’t hold his laughter back any longer, and he has to hold his hand up to get Soonyoung to just, _stop_ , for a second.

 

“It’s not that funny,” Soonyoung says, pouting a little. Wonwoo has to shake his head, finally swallowing before he can continue.

 

“No, no, it’s just - when I first met Joshua, and he was telling me about all this - he compared it to High School Musical too, and all I could think about was him yelling about how cell phones aren’t allowed in the theatre, and his precious Spring Musical,” Wonwoo explains, smiling as he recalls it. He can’t help but feel a little warm too, thinking of how much has changed in that little span of time, how he’s finally choosing to chase after something he actually wants instead of passively observing.

 

At this, Soonyoung breaks into another ful-fledged grin, and Wonwoo thinks he knows what uninhibited happiness feels like.

 

It’s a little bittersweet to think about, but him and Soonyoung pass the rest of the afternoon comparing the members of the crew to High School Musical characters to talking about High School Musical, their favourite songs from it, their favourite songs in general. Long after the pasta is finished and the sauce is drying on the rim of the bowl, and Wonwoo’s book lays strewn on the table, forgotten - their voices carry through the empty hall. It’s a lot like living in the warmest parts, like preserving the parts of his life that matter. It’s a lot like having a silly, winding conversation with someone you can feel yourself clicking with, sighing and saying “Where’ve you been all this time?”. It’s a lot like making new memories and choosing families, like giving yourself a break.

 

For the first time in a while, Wonwoo feels relief.


	6. two stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tech week rolls around, eventually

vi. two stars

; in the string, two overlapping stars are formed, where the points pulled apart by the index, middle, and ring fingers.

 

The rest of term break flies by - mainly because Wonwoo spends nearly all his free time with Soonyoung. They don’t necessarily plan to do anything special, besides lie around in bed, laughing at something stupid they happened to see on their phones. It’s just become a routine for Soonyoung to find himself at Wonwoo’s room, and for them to hole up together there for an afternoon, away from the vast emptiness of campus and into the bubbly warmth of each other’s company. For the most part, it’s watching movies and noisily eating chips and Soonyoung cackling as he watches Wonwoo play his games and lose. Wonwoo can’t even bring himself to be annoyed at that last one - he’s noticed that Soonyoung’s eyes get really soft when he laughs, and he squishes his whole face, scrunching his nose. (For the rest of the time; Wonwoo thinks Soonyoung is the best person he’s had the privilege of knowing in quite some time.) 

 

They fit well together, is what he’s trying to say. Soonyoung is sharp-witted and soft-hearted and shares Wonwoo’s sense of humour, lets Wonwoo indulge in doing and saying silly things just for the hell of it. Wonwoo has more defenses up than he needs to and is tired of building walls instead of gateways, and Soonyoung’s presence has felt a lot like throwing the bricks aside. It’s good for him, the letting go. 

 

When he eventually gets back to the theater, he’s happier than he was. It’s as simple as that: being around good people makes him feel good. To be loved by good people is good, too. 

  
  


Of course, a new term back at the theater also means a new production, meaning Joshua and Seungcheol and everyone on crew are absolutely losing their minds trying to pull everything together. The only ones who seem immune are Jun and Seokmin, the only two acting interns. While Joshua and Seungcheol sit and bounce their legs trying to meticulously copy and synchronize everything into the prompt book, and the entire wardrobe crew seems to constantly be wearing band-aids - Jun and Seokmin stretch lazily, like cats, at the back of the hall, quietly reciting their lines. Occasionally, one of them will stand, to try and ‘ get a feel of the lines’. This usually means Seokmin stands at the back and tries to teach Jun how to better project his voice, meaning Joshua sends them a death glare over what probably is his 9th cup of coffee, meaning that the war between the actors and the stage crew has returned. It’s not that they genuinely don’t get along - it’s just a strange kind of harmless annoyance that exists between the tech crew and the actors, dissipating as soon as they step out of the theater. 

 

Wonwoo watches all of this unfold from afar, mostly in amusement. 

 

The only exception is that Joshua is a hardass about crewing, and guards his prompt book with his life. Of course, both himself and Seungcheol have copies so if anything happens to the master copy, they’ll have back up. This, however, doesn’t stop Joshua from  _ literally snarling _ at Wonwoo when he reaches over the prompt book to pick up Joshua’s half-empty thermos for a coffee refill. His words come out all gnarled and incomprehensible, and it shocks Wonwoo for a second to see his friend so strangely intense. 

 

“Do you not want a refill?” is all he can manage, setting down the thermos slowly, like he’s trying not to make any sudden movements. Like trying to pet a little dog that’s supposed to be all yappy and friendly, only to be growled at - except in this case Joshua really did snarl at him and Wonwoo _ really _ needs to check if he’s alright. All he’s done thus far is try to manage Joshua’s schedule, share a little bit of the workload with Seungcheol, get Joshua’s coffee refilled - so he can’t even gauge how much pressure he’s actually under. It’s weird seeing Joshua with about 50 layers of eyebags, half of his piercings empty, his shirt crinkled. He’s so different from the boy Wonwoo met in class those first few days, all gentle eyes and soft smiles. 

 

“No, I do. Just..don’t lift it over the prompt book like that, okay? I can’t let anything happen to it, all of Cheol’s and my work is in there,” Joshua softens midway through his sentence, crumpling a little, like he can’t even muster the strength to keep himself upright anymore.

 

Wonwoo immediately knits his eyebrows together, watching Joshua literally wither in pure exhaustion. It was a little funny at first, and a lot of fun - working together with friends, hectic late nights, bouncing intense ideas off of one another, scrawling them down on rough sheets of paper in a caffeine-fuelled haze. It’s like the Full University Experience, except now it just seems like the Full University Experience consists of his friends burning themselves out and taking their work to the extreme and needing to do about 50 billion things at once to the best of their abilities otherwise  _ it doesn’t mean anything, Wonwoo _ .

 

(It’s not something he’s new to, anyway. For as long as he can remember, Wonwoo’s been the one pushing himself to the edge, his very own kind of cattle brand telling him to work harder, work faster. He knows exactly how long he can work per day without breaking (10 hours), how much coffee it takes to stay up all night (2 americanos), and how all of these stupidly intense things amalgamated will ruin him mentally, physically, emotionally. 

 

He can’t bring himself to think about Joshua - a friend to him when he didn’t have to be, endlessly patient and helpful, kind and understanding - doing any of that to himself. He won’t let it happen.)

 

So he does what he can. He shoulders a little more work, learns a lot more. He learns theater terms from Seungcheol so he can keep up with the whole management aspect, learns exactly how to clamber up to the soundbooth to conspire with Jihoon and Vernon about their various audio cues, learns that the official name for what Mingyu and Minghao do is ‘prop masters’ and maybe that makes him laugh because those two are hardly the masters of anything. (He also learns that Soonyoung likes to talk while he sews and sketches designs, rambling to Jeonghan about nothing and everything. He also learns the quickest way to thread a needle, Soonyoung’s steady hands guiding his own jittery ones.) 

  
  


There’s an afternoon, muggy and unfocused without Joshua and Seungcheol around, where he finds himself sitting cross-legged on the floor with Mingyu and Minghao. Joshua, Seungcheol, and Jeonghan all had some special lecture to attend, but had left them with strict instructions to “keep working no matter what, and no, Mingyu, I don’t care if your fingers get stuck like that forever.” Now, with Mingyu and Minghao bickering over the colours of acrylic paint in front of him, he has to remind himself why he chose to root himself here, with the two of them: because they looked like two scared, kicked puppies who needed more helping hands than they were willing to admit they did, and Wonwoo wanted to be nice and help. Instead, what he gets is Minghao calling Mingyu ‘a burnt chicken nugget’ and Mingyu sticking his tongue out at Minghao as a retort. He gets Minghao flinging his very-much-wet paintbrush at Mingyu, and Mingyu yelping loudly before smudging some paint on Minghao’s cheek. He gets the two of them dissolving into bright peals of laughter right after, and then agreeing on the very thing they were fighting about in the first place. It’s ridiculous and hard to follow and Wonwoo is so incredibly confused - but they get the work done. (He thinks that they’re maybe a little weird, with Minghao and his prickly aura clashing with Mingyu’s seemingly gentle exterior - but who knows, maybe an onlooker could say the same thing about him and Soonyoung.)

 

(He’s been letting his thoughts wander to Soonyoung an awful lot recently.)

 

He sits with Mingyu and Minghao for a couple hours, painting boards and gluing pieces together and carving till his hands shake. They have a little conveyor belt setup, each of them specializing in a particular step of the prop-making - Minghao’s is painting, while Mingyu usually pieces things together, and Wonwoo handles the tiny extra things to save them some time. By the end of his prop-making stint, Wonwoo can see why they call them prop masters; both Mingyu and Minghao are incredibly talented, steady and good with their hands, creative in ambiguous environments. They navigate their doubts together by throwing out advice, or snappy one-liners, but all of it is tinged with the soft hue of affection. Their relationship can only be described as symbiotic, Wonwoo supposes. 

 

Eventually though, with no restraints, Wonwoo finds himself drifting towards the wardrobe department. It’s gotten late, he thinks. He remembers seeing Vernon leave with Seungkwan a little earlier, Vernon flashing him a bright, gummy smile, and Seungkwan waving vigorously at him. All this means is that it’s definitely past dinnertime, and he hasn’t seen Soonyoung all day - which is obviously unacceptable. Jeonghan’s been gone all day too, which just means that if Soonyoung is here, he’s definitely all by himself - which is doubly unacceptable. 

 

Rounding the last corner, Wonwoo catches a glimpse of Soonyoung pushing his sweaty bangs out of his face before going back to sew a button onto an elegant jacket, his eyes narrowed in concentration. For a second, Wonwoo lets himself pause to watch Soonyoung work. It’s a little disorienting, seeing him so small all by himself in the dim backstage lighting, the slouched curve of his spine alluding to his exhaustion. His movements are a little clumsy, though, and Wonwoo can’t help but rush forward when he hears Soonyoung audibly wince as he accidentally jabs himself with the needle he’s holding. 

 

And then, before he can stop himself, Wonwoo is clasping Soonyoung’s hand in his own, examining the little pinprick of blood that’s formed on the pad of his index finger. He hears Soonyoung gasp a little at his intrusion, and somewhere in the back of his head he’s embarrassed, but he’s also stupidly worried about Soonyoung and the increasing number of band-aids he’s been sporting in the past 2 weeks. 

 

“Well, haven’t we been here before?” is the first thing Soonyoung says, trying to give Wonwoo a small smile, and Wonwoo immediately calls bullshit. His tiredness is glaringly obvious, from the slight trembling in his hands, to the glazed over look he has in his eyes, his drooping eyelids. He’s been staying late at the theater with Jeonghan nearly every night thus far, Wonwoo knows. Whenever Wonwoo’s with Joshua and Seungcheol, modifying cues and set-ups, it’s often with the hum of the sewing machine in the background, and the rustling of metres of cloth. All any of it can mean is that Soonyoung hasn’t been resting properly either, and the realization prompts a protective tug somewhere in Wonwoo’s chest. 

 

“Shouldn’t you have gone home when Seungkwan left?” is what Wonwoo ends up going with, because as much as him and Soonyoung are friends, he doesn’t want to invite himself to a place where his presence isn’t wanted. At his question, Soonyoung snorts and gives him a little eyeroll.

 

“I told him he could go off first, him and Vernon had dinner plans together. Plus, they’re still kids in high school, they should be able to have some fun before all this really swallows them whole,” Soonyoung answers easily, and Wonwoo realizes they’re still holding hands. (Or, rather: he’s still holding Soonyoung’s hand.) He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a packet of tissues to clean the blood off of Soonyoung’s finger, before he lets go, and Soonyoung’s hand falls limply to his lap.

 

“Fine, but don’t you need help?” Wonwoo asks again, wringing his hands, not sure what to do with them now that they’re empty (without Sooyoung’s.)

 

“I mean, all I’ve got is a bunch of jackets to finish sewing buttons onto, it’s easy work. It’s just annoying,” Soonyoung huffs out in response, letting the bloodied tissue drift to the floor in favour of picking another buttonless jacket from a pile next to him.

 

“Is it okay if I help you then? You showed me how to sew on a button the other day anyway, I may as well put that to use,” Wonwoo offers, and he winces internally at how weak it comes out, for he doesn’t expect Soonyoung to want someone as inexperienced as him to be putting costumes together. But as soon as the words are out of his mouth, Soonyoung is grinning at him in astonishment, and pushing 3 jackets towards him, all the while thanking him profusely. Wonwoo waves it away dismissively, looking down at his lap.

 

It’s nice to be able to spend some time with Soonyoung, even if the both of them are exhausted to the bone. It’s better than being exhausted and alone, at the very least. It’s also a little desperate, in Wonwoo’s eyes, a little silly how much he likes being around Soonyoung. There isn’t any kind of particularly stimulating conversation flowing between them tonight, and sometimes no words hang in the air at all - but things are okay. They work well, and they work quickly, and soon enough the jackets are all buttoned, and Soonyoung is sighing in relief and offering Wonwoo a soft smile, a wordless ‘thank you.’ Wonwoo nods, tells Soonyoung to get some rest, sends him off with the promise of tomorrow. 

 

(Wonwoo thinks that maybe, they have a relationship that can only be described as symbiotic.) 


	7. candles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> second year brings with it more soonwoo nonsense

vii. candles

; two persons and one loop of string are required to form this figure, which is played by the persons alternately taking the string off each other's hands.

 

Second year brings with it kinder mornings, gentle breezes, and a warmth that digs itself into Wonwoo’s skin.

 

Finals had been a nightmare, and Wonwoo’s convinced that the only way he managed to come out of them in one piece is studying with Joshua and Jeonghan, and Seungcheol sometimes. Even though they’re his senior, with different classes than him, just being in the same space with them makes him quiet. They settle the constant buzzing of his mind that threatens to overflow with papers to write, people to see, presentations to rehearse. He knows they’re even more tightly wound than he is, and he can’t help but feel the gentle ache of gratitude towards the intangible sense of grounding that they award him.

 

Around this time, Soonyoung makes himself scarce. It breaks Wonwoo’s heart a little but it’s also ridiculous, the way the two of them absolutely cannot study together. It’s not like they haven’t tried, either. There was a particularly charged afternoon, where the air felt electric with the thunderstorm that was brewing beyond the windows of their dorm. Soonyoung had come to Wonwoo’s room, and they’d spread out over the open space on his room floor. Soonyoung had a stack of flashcards, and a particularly large notebook - filled with case studies for his communications module since he was going into his specialisation next year, he’d explained - and set them down loudly. Wonwoo had grimaced at the noise, turned back to his own mindmaps filled with stupid repetitive graphs, the last lap of a year of hell exams about things he didn’t care about. All he had to do was scrape through this semester, just to get to next year when he could be sure that better things were coming.

 

But Soonyoung’s presence always managed to make Wonwoo more excitable than he usually was, and coupled with his pure reluctance and apathy towards his own schoolwork, they’d ended up talking aimlessly.  At first, it’d started with Wonwoo asking Soonyoung a simple question about what he was studying, leading to Soonyoung lighting up and telling him about one his weirder case studies, and from there it all went to hell. They spent most of that rainy afternoon like that, bellies pressed to the cold dorm floor, their voices blending in with the steady fall of rain. They’d eventually ended up on Wonwoo’s bed, watching a Disney movie, and Soonyoung nestles in the crook of Wonwoo’s shoulder like it’s no big deal. And it isn’t.

 

(It feels like yesterday, the way they started out. Over a bowl of pasta and pricked thumbs and silly Disney Channel Original Movies and hands, tangled together in their shared warmth.)

 

After that, they both agree that even though the afternoon wasn’t a waste (because how could time with your best friend be a waste?), they shouldn’t study together.

 

Wonwoo goes nearly 3 months without seeing Soonyoung, after his finals end. It’s hell on earth for the both of them, this whole idea of arranging video calls and texting at certain times only and never knowing where the other is, or what he’s doing. Wonwoo can feel himself being dramatic, because it’s not like he’ll never see Soonyoung again, it’s _just break_ , and yet -- he misses him more than ever. It’s weird, having this feeling of formality running through their every interaction. It dissipates the more they talk, but being away from Soonyoung dampens him a little.

 

With his parents, he feels the same shade of grey as before (as always), now with a fresh shaving of guilt. He has to watch his father silently eat dinner, and his mother pick uncomfortably at her food. It becomes obvious to him that they don’t know what to do with him anymore. It’d always seemed, to them at least, that his life had so much potential. It therefore seemed impossible to them that Wonwoo wasn’t living out one of the many lives they had planned. At university, he was at least physically distant from the house, and out of sight meant out of mind. However, immersed in this environment with absolutely no way out for the next 3 months, he does the only thing he can. He makes himself scarce, going for long walks, reading at the library, coming home only in the evening if him and Soonyoung had scheduled a call.

 

Through all of this, Wonwoo knows Soonyoung can see him languishing. Ironically, Wonwoo can’t find the words to explain himself, to explain why he’s like this to Soonyoung, and thankfully Soonyoung doesn’t ask. If anything, he’s probably figured it out for himself, has had it figured out for quite some time. The other kids at the theatre like to joke about how childish and excitable Soonyoung can be, how ridiculous he becomes whenever he hangs out with Seokmin and Seungkwan, the three of them kicking up laughs even on the days where Joshua finds himself slumped over his table, and Wonwoo can do nothing but nervously wring his hands. Wonwoo, of all people, knows that Soonyoung does it because he wants to see his fellow crew members smile, doesn’t want them to suffer through their work. In the same way, there exists this wordless agreement with him and Soonyoung. Wonwoo will appear, blurry and unfocused and his eyes ringed with shadows, and Soonyoung will smile at him, and they’ll talk into the night, and for those few hours, things seem just a little more colourful.

 

School, finally, comes as a relief. On their first day back, Wonwoo and Soonyoung had run at each other, acting like they hadn’t met for years. They’d crashed into each other, and Soonyoung had wrapped his arms around Wonwoo’s waist, and of course they’d almost fallen  and had a few freshmen laugh at them. For once, Wonwoo can’t bring himself to care. It was that same relief as when he’d first arrived, but Soonyoung’s steady presence the past few months had made it easier to breathe. This year, armed with their friendship, they’d agreed to stick together. Where they could, they picked overlapping classes, synced their schedules. Wonwoo ended up with a module in the Communications school, and Soonyoung ended up with an introductory course in Japanese literature.

 

Wonwoo would never fully admit it, but doing these things with Soonyoung felt domestic. It also made him feel a little silly, terming it like that. It’s not like him and Soonyoung were roommates (not because he didn’t want to ask, but because he was afraid of the answer), but doing things like making schedules, like arranging study sessions with each other (Wonwoo also refuses to call them study dates), picking each other up after their last classes - it felt like something new. A good kind of new. It’s nice to walk with Soonyoung to the bubble tea store on campus in the soft light of the setting sun, to be surrounded by the cosy scent of freshly brewed tea, to pass the hours poring over his notes and maybe he steals glances at Soonyoung from time to time. It’s not like he hasn’t caught Soonyoung doing the same, on occasion.

 

Of course, they spend time with each other outside studying. On this particular day, where neither of them have any classes, Soonyoung has asked to meet him at the bubble tea shop because he wants to ask Wonwoo something, with explicit instructions to not bring any study stuff, followed by a string of disapproving frowny emojis. Wonwoo had distractedly dismissed it initially, but as he walks through the door, his heart threatens to jump out of his mouth. Soonyoung is already sitting at their usual table in the corner, and he waves excitedly when he sees Wonwoo. Wonwoo only manages a feeble wave back, too busy being consumed by his own internal freakout as he realizes he has no idea what Soonyoung wants to ask him, and that he has prepared no backup plan whatsoever.

 

When he finally slides into his seat after what feels like an eternity, Soonyoung looks at him expectantly.

 

“Aren’t you gonna order your drink?” Soonyoung asks, looking at the empty space in front of Wonwoo, where his fingers had immediately begun tapping out a nervous rhythm.

 

All Wonwoo can do is shake his head, and then, as casually as he can muster, choke out: “What’d you wanna ask me?”

 

Soonyoung pauses for a second, leaning back.

 

“Oh my god, is that why you’re so nervous? You think this is gonna be something bad?” Soonyoung asks, somewhat incredulously.

 

“Yes, alright? I just don’t know what to expect,” Wonwoo says, frowning. He’s let himself ease up a little, though. He hopes Soonyoung’s disbelief just means it’s not actually bad news. All he gets in reply is a huff, and another shake of the head.

 

“Wonwoo, all I was gonna ask you was if you wanted to room together this year. I know you’re on your own still, and Jun wants to room with Joshua someplace else, and I figured since y’know, we’re _friends_ now it’d be okay to ask, although it’s definitely fine if you don’t want to, you probably like having your own space and everything--” Soonyoung’s speech grinds to a halt as he sees Wonwoo’s lips slowly lift in a relieved smile.

 

“Of course it’s fine! Christ, you scared me,” Wonwoo replies hurriedly, only breathing out slowly once he’d gotten his words out. His heart had finally slowed it’s terrible thumping, and Soonyoung looked a little happier.

 

“You really don’t mind?” Soonyoung asks again, more careful this time. To this, Wonwoo can only nod profusely.

 

“Definitely. In fact,” he pauses sheepishly, running his hand over his arm. “I was thinking of asking you. I just didn’t, because I figured you were still pretty okay rooming with Jun. And I didn’t wanna disrupt that, or be burdensome. So, yeah,” he finishes lamely, staring at his fingers. His cuticles are in desperate need of care. He starts picking at them instead, doing anything to just _please_ not make eye contact with Soonyoung, because he’s never been this embarrassed in his life.

 

He only looks up tentatively when he hears Soonyoung huff a little, and then reach for his hand that’s been picking at his fingertips. To his relief, the tips of Soonyoung’s ears are a little red too. Unfortunately, his train of thought completely derails after that, because this is the first time him and Soonyoung are holding hands in public, and Soonyoung is looking at him so kindly, and he has absolutely no idea what to do.

 

So he does what he always does when he panics.

 

“So, is this just a date now?” is what Wonwoo blurts out, and as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he’s filled with regret because that didn’t come out in the playful way he’d meant it to, instead overshadowed by his own desperation to defuse the situation. Soonyoung’s mouth has fallen open a little, and Wonwoo has to rush to explain himself.

 

“I just meant, like, you know how you always call this a study date, but then today we don’t have our stuff, so I don’t know why I just thought it’d be funny to say that, I’m sorry,” Wonwoo spills out, trying to withdraw his hand from Soonyoung’s grip and just get himself out of there, _right now._

 

To his surprise, Soonyoung holds him down, and he’s smiling at Wonwoo in his way that tells Wonwoo he knows what he meant, it’s okay, it isn’t the end of the world. Wonwoo stops struggling, chooses to sit back down in his chair. He focuses on staring at Soonyoung’s fingertips on his skin, taking note of their contrast, the calluses Soonyoung has from hours spent hunched over costumes and looms. He can’t bring himself to look at Soonyoung, until-

 

“This can be a date, if you want it to be,” Soonyoung replies smoothly after a moment, and Wonwoo snaps his head up so fast he swears it gives him whiplash. All he can do is open and close his mouth, like a goldish, and Soonyoung just laughs and tells him to shut his mouth before he catches flies. And just like that, the moment disperses.

 

(Although, just for a second - Wonwoo would be lying if he said he didn’t seriously consider Soonyoung’s words.)


	8. cradle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry to have to put the notes at the beginning, but i thought i'd just warn everyone that this chapter contains mentions of parental death, a brief implication of a car accident, and i do go into a fair amount of detail on grief and loss. if you're sensitive to any of that, please consider skipping this chapter!

viii. cradle

 

; the first (and opening) position of cat's cradle.

 

Soonyoung moves in, and Wonwoo would like to say that his life has moved on without a hitch.

Unfortunately, that’d be considered a lie. Wonwoo is doing anything but moving on, finding himself dragged deeper into the hurricane that is Soonyoung’s schemes and projects with each passing day. He’s never been the adventurous kind, always a creature of habit, but whenever Soonyoung comes bounding up to him with his latest fascination and a determined glint in his eyes that says there’s no way to change his mind about this - Wonwoo gives in. When it comes to Soonyoung, Wonwoo’s found himself giving in an awful lot. He wouldn’t say he’d do anything for Soonyoung, but it’s definitely an accurate sentiment, even if he refuses to admit it. 

 

Their friends can see as much, and they’re sure to give Wonwoo grief about it. Jeonghan snickers when he sees Wonwoo’s hands stained pink the same day Soonyoung shows up for rehearsal with his hair highlighter pink, and Wonwoo just shoves his hand in his pocket, his face as bright as the tips of his fingers. There’s a night when Soonyoung complains that the lights of the theatre have given him a migraine but he still hasn’t finished fixing up these costumes, so could Wonwoo  _ please  _ bring him a blanket and a small pillow or something so he won’t have to die walking back to the dorm at 4am? In the morning, Minghao comes in to find the two of them slumped against the wall, Soonyoung’s head buried in Wonwoo’s shoulder, Wonwoo’s arm carefully cradled around Soonyoung’s frame. For literally no good reason, he takes a picture and posts it. 

 

Even Joshua, who at this point is up to his eyeballs in schoolwork, takes notice. He makes a little nudging comment to Wonwoo about how often he’s seen Soonyoung leaning into Wonwoo’s presence, and how Wonwoo doesn’t fight it, how he too seems to melt into Soonyoung - and for some reason, everything slows down. It comes into sharp focus, the way Soonyoung has wormed his way into Wonwoo’s comfortable shell and made it a home for two. It’s strange and foreign to think about their friendship as homely, but that’s exactly what it is. It’s also strange and foreign for Wonwoo to contemplate that maybe this is what love feels like, coming home to the warm glow of Soonyoung’s smile from his bunk, the rustling of sheets as they squirm under the covers during movie nights, and picking ice cream flavours for the other to try during grocery runs. 

 

It’s home, and for once it doesn’t make Wonwoo feel like running away. 

  
  


It doesn’t last, because nothing ever does and shouldn’t Wonwoo of all people know this? There comes a call, and his father’s voice sounds so calm that Wonwoo barely processes the weight of what he says. This is the voice that grounded him in his younger years when things got particularly difficult, when he’d cry over spilt milk and split lips and his father would almost disinterestedly tell him to stand up straight, to be resilient in the face of adversity. None of that ever came to any good because what can empty words do, and Wonwoo’s so used to tuning out that he’s almost able to convince himself this is all a dream and go back to sleep.

 

But still, he hears the words “not wearing a seatbelt”, “slippery roads”, and “died on impact” and notices for the first time the slight tremor in his father’s voice. He imagines the wave of sound that connects them both, him bolt upright in his college bedroom where nothing would ever be the same again, and his father’s face, weary and sick beneath the hospital lights. He imagines his father pushing a hand up to his temple, the way the grey at the base comes into sharp focus. It’s only then that Wonwoo feels the beginnings of nausea, the sick pull in his stomach that says something is very, very wrong, but he just can’t seem to figure out what it is, all he knows is that he’s in his college bedroom and it is 3 in the morning and he’s trying so hard to be quiet because Soonyoung has an 8am class and his father’s voice is calling him from miles and miles away to tell him that something bad has happened and he can’t tell what it is, only that it’s bad, and that maybe he’ll never feel warm again. 

 

Wonwoo doesn’t tell anyone what happened. Instead, he packs an overnight bag while his head is still swimming in it’s own fog and he can afford some silence. He can feel his hands folding sweaters, knows he should be counting to make sure he has enough to last him because there’s no way he can step foot in his house without waking all of its ghosts and inviting them to haunt him too. Speaking the words, telling Soonyoung and Joshua what happened only feels more like an incantation and he doesn’t want to raise the dead there either, so he leaves and is left with only an overnight bag and a chest full of grief. 

 

Logically, he knows this is stupid. His rational brain is yelling at him to communicate, to at least tell Soonyoung where he’s going instead of letting him wake up to an absence because he knows how much it freaks Soonyoung out. He should be telling Joshua that he needs someone else to cue their current show because god knows he can’t right now, and Joshua likes things to be in order and for him to be in the know, and yet - everything he should do becomes everything he can’t, and he doesn’t want to try pushing past that. He’ll stare at his phone with his fingers poised over a blank screen and beg for even the most half-assed excuse to show itself but all his mind can tell him is that his mother is dead and he is alone and that he really should’ve gone home when he had the chance. 

 

(Wonwoo thinks he deserves that last one, just for trying to make another home for himself when he already had a perfectly good one, and now look what’s happened.)

  
  


On the first day, Wonwoo stands by his father in stony silence as he fills in paperwork. The hospital seems to be at a standstill around Wonwoo, the unnatural coldness of the air conditioner worming it way into his bones while he melts into the carpeted floor. The whole time, he can hear the scratching of his father’s pen on paper, the finality of this ending, and it feels like everything he’s ever touched has turned into ash.

 

The second day brings with it more silence, a currency that can only buy more currency, but Wonwoo can’t bring himself to smash the axe into his father’s mold. The whole day goes by like this, with him silently making arrangements and Wonwoo standing by his side gnawing away at his lip because crying isn’t an option when he has to be resilient. 

 

When they bury his mother’s body on the third day, the sky cries. Everything is overflowing with mud but his father remains a statue, pristine and untouchable despite the elements. Wonwoo decides he’s had enough of trying to carve himself out of stone and in his father’s image and drags himself back onto campus. 

 

He gets back to his shared room in a heap, and for a second he forgets that this is a room that should not be empty. There’s been a fog hanging around his psyche lately, clouding his every thought and making all he knows gnarled and unrecognizable. So when he steps in and his greeted by silence and blinds drawn, lights off, he doesn’t think much of it - until the pile of blankets in the corner moves at Wonwoo’s intrusion, and he sees the bright glare of pink hair.

 

“Wonwoo!” Soonyoung cries, and all at once he’s springing out of his heap and into Wonwoo’s arms and asking him where the hell he’s been and what’s happened and  _ how the fuck _ he thought he could leave for 3 days without saying a word to anyone, let alone Soonyoung. This is news for Wonwoo, that it’s been 3 days. As far as he’s concerned, he was here, he went home, and now he’s back. Along the way, time passed. The world went on, even when Wonwoo didn’t want to, when it felt like his own had stopped. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he feels like he should be getting angry, yelling at the sky about how unfair all of this is, that life goes on when his mother’s didn’t. He can’t muster the energy for anger, though, so he drops his bags and wraps his arms around Soonyoung and wishes he wasn’t so far away. 

  
  


Despite being away from home again, Wonwoo doesn’t come back to university the way he left it. He can barely bring himself to get out of bed, so he lets the moons and suns go by, all the while feeling Soonyoung’s concerned stare on him. 

 

Classes and the theatre are a grim reminder to Wonwoo of what a disappointment he is - was - to his parents, a permanent symbol of his disobedience now lodged in his life forever. He curses himself a million times that week, a selfish and unfilial son to the two people who had wanted nothing more than a good life for him, and he couldn’t even grant them that. He wants a restart button on this era of his life, just so he can go back and redo his choices and give his parents what they wanted. In some recess of his mind, he thinks that maybe if he just kept quiet and followed what he was supposed to do this whole time, maybe this wouldn’t have happened and maybe his mother would still be alive and maybe his father would be a little more bearable. 

Alone, he sees the cracks in their relationship already. His mother had always been a neutral bridge between them, for she was understanding where Wonwoo’s father was strict, and soft where Wonwoo would not allow himself to be. With that gone, everything had crumbled. Now, all that’s left to burn is rubble, and Wonwoo can’t be bothered to extricate himself from it. 

 

Unfortunately, after a point, to excavate or not is no longer his choice. There comes a day where Soonyoung pulls the blankets off of Wonwoo, and Wonwoo doesn’t even want to fight him. He just stares blearily at Soonyoung, so much brighter than he remembered. Soonyoung takes one look at Wonwoo’s glassy stare, at his purple-ringed eyes and unwashed hair before he turns on his heel and quietly says “I’m calling Joshua if you don’t tell me what’s been going on with you.” 

 

It takes all of Wonwoo’s strength to push himself into a sitting position, the effort making him dizzy for a minute. Soonyoung waits, watching Wonwoo struggle. After what seems like years, Wonwoo finally says “My mother passed away.” 

 

Soonyoung’s face falls when he hears Wonwoo’s voice, faded and rough with disuse. His expression gets worse when he processes what Wonwoo says, and it breaks Wonwoo’s heart to see Soonyoung so sad. The next thing he knows, Soonyoung’s warm body is pressing into his shoulder and he’s being hugged. He thinks he can feel wetness on his face, and his heart keeps telling him that he should be happy to have Soonyoung so close, but he can’t even bring himself to think about that. Not when his mother is dead, and not when he’s so far from good. 

 

“When did it happen?” Soonyoung asks, and Wonwoo can’t answer because he doesn’t know. How long had it been since that call had come in the middle of the night, and Wonwoo’s life had split in half? How long since he felt he would drown in the weight of his own tears, and his mother’s coffin was lowered into the dirt? All Wonwoo can do is shake his head, and Soonyoung leans in to press a gentle kiss to the crown of his head. 

 

Wonwoo wants to cry.

  
  


That night, Soonyoung stays with him. He gets Wonwoo up, hands him a new set of clothes, gently pushes him to their shared bathroom. When Wonwoo comes out, finally clean, Soonyoung has ordered takeout for them and is setting up a makeshift dinner table in the space between their beds. Wonwoo thinks he can feel his stomach growling, but it’s as far away as everything else. He doesn’t really remember the last time he ate, either. When he starts wolfing down food, he catches Soonyoung eyeing him, and he stops for a second to offer him a feeble smile. Soonyoung brightens a little at this, and heaps more chicken onto Wonwoo’s plate.

 

When it gets late, Wonwoo turns to thank Soonyoung, to say goodnight and then pretend to sleep for the next 6 or so hours. To his surprise, he sees Soonyoung grabbing the pillows off of his own bed, wrapping his blanket around his shoulders before waddling precariously to Wonwoo’s bed and throwing himself onto it. For a minute, Wonwoo just stares at Soonyoung’s form, the way his calves are dangling off of Wonwoo’s bed. Then, Soonyoung turns to face him, and declares he’s going to keep him company for the night, to make sure Wonwoo actually gets some rest. Again, there comes a faraway urge to push Soonyoung away, to snappily tell him that he’s fine, thank you very much, but - to do that would be a lie, and maybe Wonwoo’s tired of trying to hold himself up on lies. 

 

For the first time in god-knows-how-long, Wonwoo sleeps soundly, Soonyoung’s face buried in his back.

The next morning brings with it only kindness, Wonwoo waking up to Soonyoung still soundly asleep, his arms curled around Wonwoo’s waist for a change. Wonwoo can feel Soonyoung’s steady breaths on his neck, and although he is a little grossed out, it’s nice to be close to someone again, to feel warmth instead of a wall. It’s nice to be near Soonyoung, specifically, too. He’s been exceedingly understanding with Wonwoo, but not to the point where he’s walking on eggshells or treating him like he’s made of glass, and Wonwoo appreciates that. If all of this has done anything, it’s brought Soonyoung to him, and maybe that’s more than he could’ve ever asked for. 

 

Their silence is shattered all too soon by hurried knocking on the door, and Soonyoung groans before he flings a pillow that uselessly hits a wall. The second the banging stops, Soonyoung’s pushed his head back into Wonwoo’s shoulder. Now that he’s a little more awake, a little more well-fed and a little less sleep-deprived, Wonwoo’s heart has the good nature to start beating wildly in his chest.

 

Of course, the knocks start up again and Wonwoo sighs before he trudges his way over to their door. Soonyoung whines, but before Wonwoo has time to mull over whether or not getting back into bed is a worthy sacrifice for a morning of noise, Soonyoung’s asleep again. Wonwoo huffs, finally opening the door to reveal the culprits - Joshua, Seungcheol, and Jeonghan - looking sheepish, but also carrying to-go bags of pastries and coffee. 

 

Jeonghan, of course, is the first one to move. He shoves the tray of coffee he’s holding to Seungcheol, then steps up to hug Wonwoo tightly. Wonwoo, of course, is caught off guard by this, and sways slightly before Jeonghan untangles himself and fixes Wonwoo with a glare. 

 

“We were so worried about you! Soonyoung has been texting us non-stop all week panicking about where you went, and then he says you came back looking like a corpse so he’s still freaking out, and now he says you don’t sleep and you haven’t been eating, would it have killed you to tell us what the hell was going on?” Jeonghan demands, holding Wonwoo by his forearms. It’s a little like getting scolded by his mom for playing with his friends for too long, or staying up too late, and the comparison prompts a fresh pang of pain in his chest. His face crumples, and he slumps. Jeonghan’s face softens, and he rubs Wonwoo’s arm soothingly. 

 

“I didn’t mean to be so harsh, it’s just that he was really worried. We all are,” Jeonghan adds, and Joshua nods vigorously. Even Seungcheol has been scanning him the entire time, and Wonwoo feels a little like he has 3 new dads. 

 

It’s only when they’re all inside the dorm, and the coffees are beginning to cool that Joshua pipes up and asks Wonwoo what they’ve all undoubtedly been wondering. It’s painful for Wonwoo to repeat himself, just because every repetition feels like another nail in the coffin of ‘she’s not coming back’, and that’s entirely suffocating to endure all by yourself, even when your friends bring you pastries and hugs and eyes full of concern. Their concern only makes him want to cover up more, to promise that he’ll go back to classes and the theatre, and no, he won’t need a brigade to make sure he’s being a functional human being. There’s embarrassment and guilt pooling in his gut, and the only way to drain it is to spit out the words “I’m fine” until the river inside him stops flowing.

 

Joshua is the first one to see through him. All it takes is one hard look at Wonwoo, fighting hard to hold himself together, and the shared understanding that none of them want Wonwoo to have to fight this hard.

 

“Wonwoo, you know grief isn’t some kind of checklist you can just mark off. It’s not a linear timeline,” Joshua says kindly, and Wonwoo’s head snaps up. Vaguely, he registers Soonyoung’s hand, warm in his. He knows everyone is watching him, waiting for a reaction. To see whether he’ll burst into tears, or hold his head up to smile at them. Or perhaps, he’ll do nothing at all. Maybe he’ll stay neutral, lean into Soonyoung’s shoulder, let his eyes glaze over. Let his friends worry about him, he’ll be fine. He’s done enough, as it is.

 

He presses his face into the warmth of Soonyoung’s exposed shoulder, and lets the tears flow. In an instant, Jeonghan’s hands are rubbing his back, soothing and controlled. He can feel Joshua rubbing circles into his free hand. He knows Seungcheol is the one trying to fit all of them into his arms, nuzzling his face into Jeonghan’s hair, and this makes Wonwoo sputter out a wet laugh. The image of a pile of full-grown boys, huddled together on the floor of a dirty dorm room, clutching at each other for dear life. 

 

Wonwoo doesn’t want to let them worry. He wants to let them know that they’re his friends, and that he’s sorry for doing this, and that he wants them around more than anything. Now that home is no longer an option, it’s up to him to build something he can live in, even if the thought is frightening and he’s been told a million times he shouldn’t make a place for himself inside other people. But he isn’t. He’s making a place for himself with other people, and for now that’s the best he can do.


	9. kani mumun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> grief is the thing with feathers or: hope is the thing with feathers

ix. kani mumun

 

; the name of this pattern originates from the Gilbert Islands, meaning: 'dispersing clouds' or 'flight of the conquered'. it is made starting from position 1 of the cat’s cradle, where the string is stretched cleanly between the thumb and pinky finger, straight across the top of the palm.

 

“Wonwoo,” is the first thing he hears a couple hours later, a gentle voice calling him back to consciousness. It’s peaceful, slow and understanding, and it reminds Wonwoo a little of burrowing into cozy blankets. 

 

“Wonwoo,” the voice says again, a little more insistently this time. Wonwoo frowns at this. It sounded like his guardian angel was frustrated now, and he rolls over, still half-asleep. 

 

There’s a disapproving huff before Wonwoo suddenly feels the familiar weight of a pillow whacking his shoulder blade, held aloft by none other than Kwon Soonyoung.

 

“Jeon Wonwoo!” is what he’s essentially yelling by this point, frowning at Wonwoo. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” Soonyoung continues, arms akimbo. Wonwoo, held in place by the shock of Soonyoung shrieking and almost-straddling him, makes no effort to reply. He can’t coax his voice out of his throat when Soonyoung is so intensely  _ here _ , staring him down and waiting for an answer. He doesn’t have an answer. His brain hasn’t processed anything besides the understanding of exactly how close Soonyoung is to him. 

 

Which is a little silly, isn’t it? They’d spent the night basically spooning, and before that they’d always been reaching out for each other, always worming their way into the other’s space. Being touchy had become their way of being around each other, an affirmation that said nothing more than they were here, together. It didn’t mean anything else. Wonwoo liked to touch and Soonyoung liked to be touched and that was the end of that. It’s not like they’d formally discussed it, or set boundaries or decided that they were a package deal at all. It just wasn’t a big thing with them. And yet, here Wonwoo was, his mind spinning because their thighs had touched. As if it had never happened before.

 

As if he hadn’t loved Soonyoung the entire time. 

 

But Soonyoung is still looking at him expectantly, and Wonwoo loses his train of thought again. He opens and closes his mouth like a goldfish, until Soonyoung takes pity on him.

 

“It’s almost 5pm,” he says finally, leaning back onto Wonwoo’s legs, which only makes Wonwoo wince. Soonyoung’s words don’t mean anything to him, though. So it’s 5pm. So the sun is down and another day has gone by. So he’s spent it in his dorm, alone. What difference does that make from the day before, and the day before that, and the stream of days before that? The world goes on its merry way, and Wonwoo remains stationary. This isn’t news. 

 

Soonyoung can probably sense Wonwoo’s apathy, because he sighs heavily before he finally rolls off of Wonwoo, and there’s something unfamiliar in the way he looks at Wonwoo just a little sadly. He could be wrong, though. He hates how he puts too much of his own meanings into things that mean nothing. A passing remark, a hand on his - stupid things he dove into, and subsequently tainted. He’s being taken care of because of his extenuating circumstances. Nothing has any meaning. He has told himself this and he will have to keep telling himself this before he says something out loud and ruins everything he’s tried to build here. 

 

“You didn’t go to any of your classes again,” Soonyoung starts, and this gets Wonwoo’s attention. He’d forgotten the expectations that came with school, in the haze of his grief where he ran from place to place like something was chasing him. He’d been so focused on getting out, on going forward, that he’d forgotten that even here, you have to do things to earn your place. You have to be minimally functional, go to class, talk to your friends. In the days since his return to university, he’s done none of those things. He doesn’t think that one impromptu reunion with Joshua and the others counted as healthy communication either, given that all he’d really done was keep quiet and cry into Soonyoung’s shoulder while the others murmured sympathetically.  

 

“I’ll go tomorrow,” Wonwoo promises, and he genuinely can’t tell how much of that is truth, and how much he just wants to say it so Soonyoung will stop hovering around him like a worried mother. He turns over in his bed, but he can feel Soonyoung’s eyes still boring into his back.

 

“I just want you to be okay, you know,” Soonyoung says, and Wonwoo can hear him rustling, lying by him. “Obviously I know you won’t be okay right now. But you do need to start coming back to us, at the very least. You can’t spend forever lying around in the dorms. It’s been difficult managing the theatre without you,” he continues, and Wonwoo feels the sharp stab of agitation bloom in his chest. He’s never been one to snap easily, had always been the more even-tempered counterpart to Soonyoung’s enthusiasm or frustration. Even at the theatre, when the quick changes would grate on Soonyoung’s nerves and prompt him to raise his voice, Wonwoo and Jun would play mediator. It’s a foreign feeling, anger. It’s Wonwoo’s least favourite way to feel, the way it’s all fire and no consideration for who might get burnt - and he doesn’t want to burn Soonyoung. He doesn’t want to burn anyone. And yet, the flame in his chest hums, bright and ugly. 

 

He scowls, and turns over with a mumble. How difficult could it have been for everyone else? They’re not the ones who lost a mother. How could a few extra hours, doing a few more jobs be as awful as what he’s experienced in the past week? How do those 2 things even begin to compare? He can imagine Seungkwan complaining about the work, dragging himself about the theatre. Mingyu and Minghao probably would’ve managed fine. They learn quickly enough, and Minghao is an overworker if he’s ever seen one. So maybe Vernon and Jihoon would’ve had to memorize the sound cues instead of having him spell it out for them. A little more effort, on everyone’s part. It doesn’t even begin to add up to the hell he’s been through.

 

He knows it’s irrational. Somewhere deep inside, he wants to run to the theatre and apologize to everyone for being mean to them in his head and for going MIA for however long. Even now, he wants to say sorry to Soonyoung, who’s been watching him with that same indeterminable facial expression. That would require an explanation, though, so he refrains. Didn’t they say he’s allowed to feel whatever it is he’s feeling? Isn’t it healthier to feel things at full blast, instead of wading through the numbing waves of the previous week? 

 

Somewhere in the middle of his uncharacteristic anger, Soonyoung has begun talking again. Wonwoo only manages to catch the tail end of his sentiments. 

 

“..just need you to talk to us. When things are hard, you shouldn’t be needing to deal with them by yourself. Plus, we’re roommates. You should be able to talk to me whenever you’d like,” Soonyoung is saying, and Wonwoo narrows his eyes at him before standing. 

 

“It’s not that easy,” is all he says, moving to walk away from the bed they’ve been sharing, to untangle himself from the shared warmth and the soft width of Soonyoung’s hands around his. Strange, the way he barely noticed that. His chest is still on fire.

 

“I know it’s not, but Wonwoo, you have to at some point,” and now Soonyoung is holding him in place. Instead of fighting to extricate himself from Soonyoung’s grip he turns sharply to face him, his mouth an ugly line across his features.

 

“If I could just talk about it freely, I would have by now. Do you have any idea how painful this is for me? You don’t know, you’ve never lost anyone, so how would you know?” Wonwoo demands, and by the end of his sentence his words are coming out so quickly that they all meld together, and he barely registers the flash of hurt across Soonyoung’s face because his heart is already thudding in his ears and all he seems to be able to do is hurt the people around him. 

 

For a second, all they can do is stare at each other. Wonwoo, coming down from the shock of what he’s just let slip. Soonyoung, hurt and confused and wanting nothing more than to soothe Wonwoo before he sinks into a place where Soonyoung can no longer reach him. Instead of letting go, Soonyoung only holds tighter onto Wonwoo. Sure, he doesn’t know the best course of action or the 5 Ways To Soothe Your Grieving Best Friend Who’s Internalizing Literally Everything but he does know how to give hugs and pull Wonwoo closer in a way that won’t make him run from Soonyoung. 

 

Which is exactly what he does. All Wonwoo registers behind the burning pain in his eyes and his watery vision is 2 hands gently clasping his, pulling him to a warm chest, a nest full of blankets and the circulating refrain of Soonyoung’s voice.

 

“I’m sorry. You’re right, I don’t understand,” Soonyoung finally says, once Wonwoo is a bit more calm. At this, Wonwoo’s head shoots up and he’s ready to protest, but Soonyoung cuts him off before he can say anything further. “I’ve never lost someone so close to me so I don’t know what it’s like. I just - we just hate seeing you so alone when we’re all here for you,” he continues, rubbing circles into the groove of Wonwoo’s shoulder. 

 

“You don’t have to do everything by yourself is what I mean. We want to be here for you, and you have to let us be. We don’t wanna lose you,” Soonyoung says when he gets no reply from Wonwoo. “ _ I  _ don’t wanna lose you either,” he finishes, and it’s barely audible. He peeks down, only to see that Wonwoo’s eyes are shut, and his breathing has evened out. He sighs, and wraps his arms around Wonwoo just a little tighter, as if that would hold him together.

  
  


Message from: cheol

 

**(06:00) hey wonwoo**

 

**(06:00) i just wanted to let you know josh and jeonghan wanna add you into a gc**

 

**(06:01) to check in on you and stuff**

 

**(06:01) just thought i’d give you a heads up instead of letting them bombard you**

 

**(06:03) we really care about you. and they mean well.**

 

When Wonwoo finally stirs the next morning, it’s to his phone going batshit crazy. It’s been vibrating against the bedside table for ages, and Wonwoo has to very stealthily stretch over Soonyoung just to retrieve it. That’s another thing that happened, apparently. After their very strange not-really-an-argument, Wonwoo had fallen asleep in Soonyoung’s arms. It’d have been embarrassing if it was anyone else, but because it’s Soonyoung, Wonwoo burrows his way back into his embrace, phone clasped tightly in his hand.

 

He unlocks it, and sure enough he’s now in a groupchat with Jeonghan, Joshua, and Seungcheol. All of whom have decided to spam him with cute cat stickers at approximately 7:30am, along with about a million messages telling him to have a good day and eat well. Something gentle stirs in Wonwoo, an ember compared to the raging fire of the night before. It’s soft. If he’s brave, he can call it affection. If not, he’s just grateful. Grateful for friends that bring him coffees and pastries, for friends that stay even when the tide rises up and crashes, for friends that will not let him sink no matter how many times he tells them to let go. 

 

Later that morning, he sends them a picture he’s taken of Soonyoung at their campus diner, grinning wildly at the stack of blueberry pancakes they’ve ordered. 

 

By the end of the week, Wonwoo makes it back to the theatre. It’s on shaky legs, though. It takes almost all of Soonyoung’s strength to pull him through the entrance, and it’s not unlike the first time Wonwoo set foot into their college theatre. It’s that same fear of rejection rearing it’s ugly head again, but for a totally different reason. He’d been in charge of the theatre by that point. He was the stage manager, the puppet master to end all puppet masters. And what had he done but run away from everyone, let all the strings fall with no hands out to catch them? He’s certain everyone must be furious at him by now. Soonyoung keeps telling him that everyone understands something had happened and Wonwoo had had to leave, and that he’ll be fine because no one hates him for it. For some reason though, all he can think about is Minghao’s scowl, and the particular coldness of Jihoon’s silence. 

 

Which is why he’s so convinced that every single thing that happens on his first day back is the product of some kind of fever dream. The minute Mingyu and Minghao see him, they start pushing past each other in a race to see who can get out of the doorway faster. Wonwoo’s a little hurt at first and more than ready to go home - until they return not ten minutes later holding an absolutely humongous jar of mint chocolate chip cookies which Mingyu presents to him with his usual beaming smile. Minghao offers him a pat on the shoulder on his way out, which only confuses him further. He doesn’t fight it, though. If they wanna give him free cookies in his favourite flavour, then by all means. 

 

The weirdness of that day seems to know no limit either. By the end of their first rehearsal, Jihoon shows up at the tech table with a to-go cup of coffee in his hand. At first, Wonwoo doesn’t even acknowledge it because theatre people plus coffee isn’t a rare combination, and Jihoon with coffee is even less sparse. However, when Jihoon sticks the cup out at him and waits for Wonwoo to take it, all Wonwoo can do is blink in surprise and cautiously accept it. It’s only when he takes his first sip that he realizes that Jihoon has gotten him his favourite off-day coffee order - a Grande, Quad, Nonfat, One-Pump, No-Whip, Mocha - which must have killed him to say out loud. Wonwoo decides there and then that Lee Jihoon is the bravest man he knows.

 

At one point, Vernon and Seungkwan bounce up to him, arm in arm. They’re weirdly in-sync, offering to fill him in on everything that’s been going on, slight alterations to his cue book, updates on crewing gossip etcetera etcetera. The whole time, they’re sitting there finishing each other’s sentences and being all symbiotic - there’s that word again - and cute. Wonwoo can’t help it, but his heart aches for these two kids. He swears he catches Vernon eyeing Seungkwan with a strange dewy-eyed look a few times, but he doesn’t point it out.

 

(After all, he’s sure they’ve caught him looking at Soonyoung the same way more times than he can count.)

 

The day peaks when Jun drops to one knee and starts reciting the entirety of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18 to Wonwoo, complete with flourishing hand gestures and possibly the worst British accent Wonwoo has ever heard. As soon as Jun’s opened his mouth and begun comparing Wonwoo to a summer’s day, although he’s far more lovely and more temperate, Wonwoo’s off. He grabs his bag and speed walks out the door, all the while Seokmin and Jun alternate lines - telling him that his eternal summer Will Not Fade, nor lose possession of the fairness he possesses. It’s just a little too ridiculous for him, and for the first time in what feels like years, he laughs until his stomach hurts. 

 

It’s only later when he finds him and Soonyoung sharing a bed for the nth time that week when he has his epiphany. It’s a strange feeling, to consciously realize that the people around you genuinely care. He’d gone all his life looking for approval from his parents, his teachers, the passing friends he made in high school - all the while convinced that he was nothing but a project to them, a potential body waiting to be sculpted into Greatness by the right hands. It’s coming here that undid all of that, this whole idea of embracing who he wanted himself to be instead of a useless rag doll, a compilation of the aspirations of others. Aspirations weren’t bad things per se, but the way they’ve been shoved down his throat his whole life, Wonwoo can’t bring himself to see them as anything but malignant. 

 

Grief, too, turns everything ugly. The night his father had called, he’d seen his own arm in the glow of the blue fairy lights of the room, the way the shadows cast over it made it look like he’d lost a limb. The emptiness he’d felt till then had spilt over, running it’s polluted water over anything and everything he knew. He wouldn’t go to class because the one time he did he swore he saw the ghost of his mother sitting in the row across from him. He doesn’t register anything anyone says to him, lashes out at even the best people because he just cannot bring himself to believe that any of this will ever get better. His life will come to a standstill, right here, and he’ll sit on this corner forever. 

 

Which is why his friends mean the absolute world to him. Joshua, for picking him apart in the best way possible, finding what was really underneath. For all his innocent lamb student council president exterior, Joshua was the fiercest friend he had. Jeonghan, ever the realist, but one of the kindest people he’s come to know. Seungcheol, clumsy but endlessly warm, always ready to talk with tea and a gummy smile. And for every single person he’s met at the theatre who he can readily consider a friend instead of toeing the line and refusing to cross any further. 

 

And then, there’s Soonyoung. Soonyoung, who’s flirty and bright and welcomed him into their little theatre community without batting an eyelid. Soonyoung, the boy who shared reheated pasta with him on the coldest of days and presses his freezing feet onto Wonwoo’s thighs when they share blankets. Soonyoung, who won’t throw Wonwoo to the wolves even when Wonwoo practically begs him to. Soonyoung, who makes Wonwoo feel like there are elephants in his stomach when they touch and Soonyoung who has pretty lips and pretty eyes and the prettiest smile. Soonyoung, who Wonwoo feels like he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life with. 

 

(04:07) wonwoo: guys i think im in love with soonyoung


	10. two crowns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an ending, and a beginning.

; the ending figure of cat's cradle, from which no other figures can be formed.

 

Message from: cheol

(06:05): what the FUCK

 

Message from: jeonghan

(08:15): pay up seungcheol

(08:15) that $20 could buy me at least 4 iced americanos

 

Message from: josh

(09:00): wonwoo you’re just realizing this now?

(09:00) NO SHIT lmao

 

                                                                                  wonu: (09:02) wtf

                                                                                             (09:02) @jeonghan @joshua ????

                                                                                             (09:03) im being serious.

 

Message from: jeonghan

(09:15) ya we know

 

Message from: josh

(09:16) are you telling us you haven’t been aware of this

(09:16) since freshman year

(09:16) when you’d follow soonyoung everywhere

 

Message from: cheol

(09:17) again, and just to reiterate:

(09:17) what the FUCK.

                               

                                                                             wonu: (09:17) are you kidding me

                                                                                        (09:18) you’re telling me you knew

                                                                                        (09:18) and said nothing to me

Message from: josh

(09:20) we figured we’d let you come to it on your own

 

Message from: jeonghan

(09:21) took you long enough lmao

 

Message from: cheol

(09:30) who tf is ‘we’

(09:30) i didnt know

 

Message: jeonghan

(09:31) just buy us the coffees already

 

Wonwoo’s staring at his phone from under his desk at the lecture hall. From some distant corner of his mind, he registers the trembling of his hands, the sheen of sweat that’s formed on them that makes everything far too hot and too slippery. The world becomes nothing but the ringing in his ears, and the ever-present, traitorous thumps of his heart.

 

Joshua and Jeonghan have been a set of unquestionably steadying forces to him, right from the get-go. Seungcheol tends to be more unknowable, and he doesn’t have the same effect on Wonwoo. He’s far softer than Jeonghan and Joshua are, despite their somewhat angelic looks. From the early days at the theatre till now, it’s almost like those two had made it their life’s mission to look after Wonwoo, to make sure that he’s getting on fine and that he knows he can always come to them. On the flip side, it also means that Wonwoo is like their special kid, and therefore receives far more teasing than he thinks he deserves. Either way, they ground him. They give him a place to go when it’s cold, like a hearth that is always burning. That being said, they also serve as a reminder to him of where he is and who he is surrounded by. He is not in a place where he can just reach out and get what he wants, no questions asked. He is not in a place where he’s willing to risk the friendships he’s built over the years just to be able to kiss his best friend.

 

That one seems to be the worst of them all - he is not in a place where he can kiss his best friend and then expect to be able to carefully step back like nothing happened, and nothing has changed. Wonwoo thinks that defining the space between two people is somewhat equivalent to begging the universe to have something go wrong, and he doesn’t particularly feel like walking around with a target on his back. He would rather reside in this strange, misty, platonic nebulous nowhere than claw his way out of it. It is only marginally better than coming up for air only to see that he has torn up the only place he’s ever known, himself as the big bad wolf come to huff and puff and blow his house down, or - him as Achilles shooting himself in the heel, nursing the weak spot he’s run his hands over a million times and knows better than anyone else.

 

Of course, this also means that Soonyoung is his weak spot. Which shouldn’t be news to anyone, himself especially. He’s supposed to know these things, because it is almost like he’s always liked Soonyoung. And yet, he still marvels at the way Soonyoung has managed to comfortably nestle himself into Wonwoo’s life, all things considered. It’s easy to divide his life into two sections - before and after Soonyoung. The before finds Wonwoo pressing himself into empty spaces and acquainting himself with the slow conversations that happen between nothing and no one. The after leaves him with bedsheets dirtied from the night Soonyoung suggests they jump on the bed to make Wonwoo feel a little better after getting a bad grade, hot chocolate shared on cold days, Wonwoo loitering outside Soonyoung’s lecture hall so they can get bubble tea after classes. Wonwoo needs Soonyoung, and maybe it’s not too much of a stretch to say that Soonyoung needs him, too.

 

But needing someone and loving someone are two entirely different things, and Wonwoo is a little afraid of what change will bring them.

 

Between his High School Musical moment crisis and the passing of his mother, though, Wonwoo feels like his life is littered with the fresh wounds of change, endless change. For every good thing that’s happened to him, it seems like every devil in the universe wants its pound of flesh in return. Except with Soonyoung. Being with Soonyoung feels a lot like bringing out the first-aid kit and pressing a band-aid over the latest incision, complete with an overly-exaggerated kiss to make it all better. Liking Soonyoung feels a lot like bringing out the first-aid kit only to dowse cotton wipes with antiseptic and hesitantly bring them closer, all the while grimacing and trying to calmly steady himself for the pain that will inevitably come.

 

He doesn’t want liking Soonyoung to hurt.

 

Second year crawls on anyway, despite what Wonwoo wants. There’s no perceptible healing, no matter what he likes to think. Grief still sits within his being, and colours his world in varying shades of black. His newfound acknowledgement liking of Soonyoung, unfortunately, does nothing to remedy it. Maybe it makes living hurt a little more, but it’s almost like a welcome stab at this point. A break in the mourning. Instead of focusing his thoughts on his dead mother and his distant father and a myriad of other things he will never be able to fix no matter how badly he yells and begs and stains his hands red - he thinks of Soonyoung. He thinks of the theatre. He thinks of friends that give him a warmth that he should be used to by now, but still catches him off guard every time. He should be used to taking up space.

  


It’s a little ironic how he turns to practicality to steady him at a time like this. After spending years in a family that turned it into a principle to resent, no matter how hard he’s tried to turn away from it - he still finds himself back at square one. Spending hours at night scribbling into his cuebook, making edits. Going over the script for their latest production until his retinas burn and all he can see when he closes his eyes are the words “Henrik Ibsen’s - A Doll’s House” in big, bold font. Some people would call that coping. Retreating to familiarity during particularly rough times in one’s life as a steadying point.

 

Soonyoung, on the other hand, has another word for it.

 

“This is bullshit,” he complains at Wonwoo one night while he hangs off of his bed, upside down.

 

“What’s bullshit, Soon?” Wonwoo asks, but he’s still poring over his textbooks, making notes in the margins and paying absolutely zero attention to anything Soonyoung is saying.

 

“You’re not even listening to me,” is what he hears in response, but there’s an uncharacteristically hard edge to Soonyoung’s voice that makes Wonwoo sigh and push his chair away from his desk, turning to give Soonyoung his undivided attention.

 

The sight he’s greeted with surprises him. It’s Soonyoung, but it’s not a version of Soonyoung that Wonwoo’s familiar with. Sure, he’s right side up now, but instead of his usual irritation characterized by a pout and furrowed eyebrows that can be quickly resolved with an ice cream run and lots of big hand gestures while he vents - this time is undeniably different. Soonyoung looks almost rigid in his frustration here, arms tightly crossed and his mouth pressed into a hard lines. His eyes are devoid of their usual mischievous glint, replaced by the hard stare that he fixes Wonwoo with.

 

“What?” Wonwoo questions, and he grimaces at how whiny it comes out, like a child being reprimanded by their parents.

 

“You’re doing it again, you know,” Soonyoung states curtly, and now his fingers are tapping themselves against him arm. Wonwoo’s eyes follow the movement, looking anywhere but directly at him.

 

“Doing what?” he replies, and it takes all of his strength to keep his voice light, to not let Soonyoung hear the panic that’s slowly edging its’ way into his tone. Soonyoung has been so understanding of him for so long, unendingly kind where others would probably have lashed out at Wonwoo’s behaviour a long time ago.

 

This isn’t to say that Wonwoo’s in the wrong, though. To him, this is coping, and this has always been coping. Overworking himself and going distant until he finds the strength to eventually deal with the issue - if ever - is familiar. It’s what he’s been taught as the correct way to keep himself afloat. To Soonyoung, it’s an obvious notion that Wonwoo has never heard of healthy coping skills and will continue to crucify himself until someone tells him that he can do otherwise, that he really doesn’t have to do this anymore.

 

“This whole self-destructive, I’m-gonna-work-till-I-pass-out crap. When’s the last time you slept, huh?” Soonyoung demands, tapping his foot impatiently.

 

Before Wonwoo can open his mouth to even think about putting forth a reply, Soonyoung’s off again.

 

“And don’t even try to lie to me, I literally sleep next to you and I know that you get up at stupid hours to flip through your 50 million notebooks and make more notes and type papers that aren’t even due for weeks,” Soonyoung states, and Wonwoo hates how ugly his mouth looks when it’s pulled into a snarl. He thinks he’d give the world to be able to walk forward kiss it right off of him, but that isn’t a privilege he has.

 

The openness of that thought shocks him, the boldness required to take a few steps up and kiss Soonyoung. It’s new. Bold is not a word Wonwoo would think to associate with himself.

 

“The theatre’s been keeping me busy,” is the only hoarse reply he can muster, and the minute it’s out of his mouth he knows it’s no good. There is no part of his life here that he can keep secret from Soonyoung - Soonyoung who’s cared about him more deeply than anyone ever has, Soonyoung who says stupid things like “howdy” and “partner”, and Soonyoung who wants nothing but the best for him and always makes sure Wonwoo knows it.

 

He gets an eyeroll in reply, and as much as it stings, he thinks he deserves it.

 

“What, training Chan? That’s essentially all you have going on theatre-wise now, and the whole point of you training him is so that he can help you call half the show. If anything, that cuts your workload! Try again,” Soonyoung spits out, and Wonwoo shrinks beneath his gaze. Soonyoung, despite his height, can be horribly intimidating when he’s fired up about something he cares about. Wonwoo has never imagined himself on the receiving end of it.

 

It’s unfortunate that he can’t tell Soonyoung the truth, though. He’s spent so many nights lying awake, trying to coax the words out of his throat, but even the tiniest of whispers fall flat. His mouth just won’t form the words “I like you, Soon-ah,” and that’s just another shortcoming he’ll have to accept.

 

“Hello? Earth to Wonwoo?”

 

“I’m just stressed about picking a place to intern at,” is what comes out of Wonwoo’s mouth in response, because really anything is better than a choked confession of feelings that will surely have Soonyoung running for the hills, as far away from Wonwoo as he can get.

 

Thankfully, Soonyoung’s face softens, and Wonwoo sags with relief.

 

“Why didn’t you just tell me before? Wait - don’t answer that, I don’t wanna know because then you’ll say something sad and then I’ll be sad and want to hug you, but I’m still mad at you so let me have this,” Soonyoung says hastily, and all Wonwoo does is blink in surprise.

 

He isn’t exactly lying to Soonyoung either. The whole idea of picking a specific place to be an intern at has been bugging him for weeks now, overshadowed only by a crisis he can only name as Kwon Soonyoung. While it’s been a relief to not think about the dark shadow of a looming future by focusing on his non-existent love life, his white lie smacks him right back into reality, leaving him flailing.

 

Picking a place to intern at is compulsory for all second years going towards their third year, where they will balance the part-time internship along with their existing responsibilities. Choosing just one thing to do has never been Wonwoo’s strong point. In terms of disciplines, it’s easy to narrow down. Moving forward, though, brings with it the complexity of job scopes and the bright brochures that claim to tell you all the uses for your degree but nothing about how you’re supposed to be okay with settling with one endless thing for the rest of your life.

Unfortunately, however, that requires Wonwoo to sit down and really think about the choices he has to make and map them out in unending red lines that will eventually merge to form a future of sorts, but - till then - he sits still. Sifts through the hurdles of his life, and desperately tries to block out the circling refrain of Soonyoung’s name from his mind.

 

“Wonwoo?” Soonyoung’s calling for him again, but now he can barely bring himself to come back. It takes all of his strength to start telling Soonyoung about his dilemma, and even then, it doesn’t dispel the weight that hangs heavy in his psyche. University was supposed to bring with it stability and new beginnings, but really all he’s been able to feel thus far are endings, cyclical and relentless. The theatre was his only shot at a new start - new friends, new things to learn, the bright-eyed wonder of walking in and seeing a stage lit up in full brightness. After that, it was like god had decided to pour buckets of rain onto what could’ve been a perfectly good life, torrents of grief and a feeling his counsellor calls “re-grieving” and loss, poignant and ever-present. It doesn’t make sense to him, the way he misses his mother so much he feels as if he will cry to death with the weight of it. Maybe he always wanted to show her that he could be someone besides her timid son, someone whose presence commands a stage, a room - a life with direction.

 

It’s funny how one simple thought brought to light from the recesses of his mind can prompt such a strong reaction, the same way a life is sharper once it’s gone.

  


“Look, I’m sorry I snapped at you. I was just worried, you always do that thing where you go all quiet and I’m not a mind-reader Wonwoo, I don’t know what’s wrong,” Soonyoung states, and his eyes are everywhere but on Wonwoo. Shame, hot and ugly, burns his cheeks. “I worry. About you. And you may not worry about yourself, but I do. So when you do things that are harmful to yourself...you know why I have to call it out,” Soonyoung continues, and Wonwoo hangs his head in response, fiddling with the lint on his sweater. For a theatre major, words seem to fail him unrelentingly often when it comes to one Kwon Soonyoung.

 

There’s a warm hand on the base of his chin when he makes no move to reply, tilting his face upwards till he’s face-to-face with Soonyoung. If he moves a couple centimetres forward, they could be kissing.

 

“I love you, Nonu-yah,” Soonyoung murmurs, both hands squishing Wonwoo’s cheeks. Wonwoo feels horribly selfish at the way his entire being begs to hear those words said just a little differently, even with the smile that illuminates Soonyoung’s face.

  


After that, he doesn’t get to see Soonyoung much. Whoever said ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder’ is a goddamn liar, because Wonwoo thinks he misses Soonyoung so much it feels like he’s being torn in two. Which is maybe just a little overdramatic, but Soonyoung’s been such an immovable part of his life that not having him around is disconcerting. They’re symbiotic, after all. Having one without the other only throws the whole system off balance.

 

Between running about the new office he’s now grown to consider home and photocopying things for rude, older associates who think he’s free labour, it’s a wonder Wonwoo doesn’t use all his idle mental space thinking about Soonyoung. Soonyoung had chosen to pursue an internship at a newspaper’s publishing office, whereas Wonwoo had dove to become an editorial intern for a book publisher. After all, if he didn’t end up going into theatre full-time, this was the next practical option - bolstering young talent, giving them the step ladder into the world that he was never awarded.

 

Coming back to the theatre to check in on Chan’s progress on his off-days are always the highlight, though. Chan’s a hard worker, perfectionistic to a fault, and dedicated to his craft. Within a week of them getting the script for A Doll’s House, he had already began enthusiastically pitching ideas for the stage set-up so Wonwoo could then relay them to the director. “He’s earnest in his ideas,” Jihoon tells Wonwoo one afternoon, once Chan has run off to check on Mingyu and Minghao’s set designs.

 

“Has anyone told him that?”

 

“Oh, absolutely not,” Jihoon scoffs, before sauntering back to the sound booth.

 

“Was that Jihoon?” a voice calls from the back, and Wonwoo would recognize it anywhere. Soonyoung comes bounding out from behind the curtains, multicoloured pins stuck on his person. He’s sweating, and a stubby pencil sticks out from behind his ear. Wonwoo thinks he looks beautiful like that, completely absorbed in his element.

 

“You just missed him,” Wonwoo replies, fiddling with the clasp on his clipboard. As soon as Soonyoung sees it’s him, his eyes shine in the way Wonwoo loves and he sprints off the stage, landing in front of Wonwoo with a loud thud.

 

“You’re here! I haven’t seen you in ages,” Soonyoung exclaims, beaming up at Wonwoo. Wonwoo’s heart is still thudding painfully, but the only thought he can muster upon seeing Soonyoung, smelling of sweat and hot glue and boy is - _there you are. It’s nice to see you again._

 

Soonyoung grabs him by the hand and drags him into the backstage area, all the while ignoring Wonwoo’s half-hearted remarks about how much work he has to do, Chan will be looking for him soon, and did he mention how much work he has due? Soonyoung, of course, is a man who knows his weapons well, so he turns to Wonwoo with a pout, the overexaggerated kind that makes his cheeks puff up and his brows furrow almost comically. Now, Wonwoo’s backed into a corner with no choice but to follow Soonyoung into the recesses of the theatre, to the wardrobe department where all things come full circle.

 

As soon as they get there, Soonyoung lets go of Wonwoo’s hand and flops onto the floor, eagerly patting the space next to him. They talk, because no matter how long they’ve spent around each other, it always seems that there are new words to say. They’ll never get bored of each other because they’re Wonwoo and Soonyoung, and they just go together - that’s the way things are. The sun rises from the east, water is wet, Wonwoo and Soonyoung have always been Wonwoo and Soonyoung. Of course, they can exist outside of each other, but when they’re together - they fall towards each other, a pull as natural as gravity.

 

Soonyoung likes to make big gestures with his hands when he talks, and Wonwoo’s eyes always follow them attentively. This time though - and it may just be the giddiness of time away from Soonyoung talking - Wonwoo can’t stop watching his mouth. Soonyoung may use his hands to be expressive, but his mouth gives away so much more. When he talks about his time at the newspaper firm, the corners of his mouth are turned down and his eyes turn hard and serious, like he’s remembering something unpleasant. When he describes his time hanging around with Jihoon and going to meet the older members of the crew for drinks, he beams and laughs and smacks Wonwoo while telling him how much he wished he’d been there.

 

Most of all, when Wonwoo talks, Soonyoung’s mouth goes quiet. It forms a small pink ‘o’, and his eyes are always trained on Wonwoo. His hands that usually flutter with excitement still, clasped beneath his chin. He used to find that unsettling, the way Soonyoung listens with his whole body, just because it’s so different from the loudness of the energy he usually exudes. Usually, the stillness is a comfort to Wonwoo, especially when they talk about more serious things. It’s like Soonyoung respects that Wonwoo isn’t as vivacious as he is, and he settles to a form that Wonwoo can find comfort in talking to.

This time though, it just makes Wonwoo love him more. It’s another one of those little things that Soonyoung does for him without even trying, adjusting naturally to his settings without Wonwoo asking. Symbiotic, he remembers. A way in which people exist to benefit them both.

 

For the umpteenth time that week, Wonwoo wonders if kissing Soonyoung will throw off this balance.

 

 _You won’t know till you try_ , is the only thing his conscience says.  

 

Will it be worth the pain? (Again, he wonders if there will be pain at all. Ugly things are so hard to think about with Soonyoung around.)

 

He reaches out, undoing Soonyoung’s clasped hands in favour of holding them between Wonwoo’s clammy palms. Again, he’s shaking.

 

He moves himself a little closer to Soonyoung, and begs for the words to come out right this time. After all, this will be the only time they matter.

 

“Can I kiss you?” Wonwoo finds himself saying and he knows it comes out stuttered and breathless and he’s trembling so, so hard because Soonyoung is still looking at him with his eyes blown and he hasn’t said a word. For a moment, the silence is agonizing.

 

And then Soonyoung is breathing out the word “Yes,” so softly Wonwoo almost doesn’t hear it, and when he asks Soonyoung to repeat himself he says yes till the word loses all meaning and Wonwoo gets to lean forward and kiss Soonyoung, the way he’s always wanted to.

  
  


Both of them are breathing hard by the end of it, and Soonyoung’s chosen to lean his back against the wall whilst letting Wonwoo’s arms continue to cage him. Vaguely, Wonwoo feels Soonyoung’s hands carding through his hair, no different from all the times he’s done it before.

 

“How long have you wanted to do that?” Soonyoung asks out of the blue, his hands still tugging gently on the strands of Wonwoo’s hair that stand out in all directions from when he’d pulled on them.

 

“Since the time you made me share the stupid pasta with you,” Wonwoo mumbles out from where his face is pressed into Soonyoung’s neck. All he gets in response is a laugh from Soonyoung. It reminds him of a bell, the way it’s twinkling and clear as day.

 

“I win, then,” Soonyoung remarks, and now his fingers are travelling down Wonwoo’s neck, making him shiver. Wonwoo hums before he finally feels okay enough to look up at Soonyoung again, who has the most far-away smile on his face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“I’ve liked you for longer. From the first time you came into the stupid backstage with Joshua looking like a lost puppy and said you wanted to do theatre. Since then. So I win,” Soonyoung explains, and then lets out another huff of laughter when he sees Wonwoo’s face frozen in shock.

 

“Since then?” Wonwoo asks hoarsely, curling his fingers into Soonyoung’s shirt. It takes all of his strength to not bury his face in it, to kiss the hollow of his throat where a button is undone.

 

“Since then,” Soonyoung repeats, and Wonwoo looks up at him. He looks the same as ever. Soft cheeks, sincere eyes, slow hands. Really, the only thing that’s really changed about Soonyoung these past few months is his hair, which he’s chosen to leave in it’s natural black colour. Other than that, he’s still Soonyoung, still the same boy that Wonwoo found spread out in the wardrobe department that first day talking his ear off about costume changes and the times that Jun’s caused wardrobe malfunctions. He doesn’t want who they are to change.

 

“Do we have to be different now?” Wonwoo questions, cringing at the way it comes out frightened and small. Soonyoung’s blinking at him, just watching his face.

 

“What do you want to be, Wonwoo?” is all he gets as a response, and he sighs. He’s wanted so many things, and it took him forever to finally reach out and take one of them. Changing his major was the first step towards living a life he could face, adorned with things he can say belong to him and no one else, things that are there because he was the one who made the decision to have them. Soonyoung - Soonyoung wasn’t like that. He came into Wonwoo’s life in a hurricane of wide smiles and run-on sentences, completely uninvited, but Wonwoo wants him to stay. Soonyoung isn’t a thing to be coveted and he knows this better than anyone, but he can’t help but reach out for him anyway.

 

“I want us to be something, but I don’t want it to be different. Does that make sense?” Wonwoo asks the beams of the ceilings, and Soonyoung can’t help but look up to.

 

“Sure it does. Just because we kissed doesn’t mean we’re new people now, you know,” Soonyoung replies, and without looking at him, Wonwoo knows he’s wearing that same thoughtful smile he always does when he gets an idea. “We just love each other different.”

 

Wonwoo lets out a breath, stirring the air in the room. Loving each other different sounds like a good place to start. He doesn’t have to go scrambling around for bits to make a new home, just adjust to something slightly different. All the furniture is the same, except maybe now instead of curling up in separate chairs, he can slink over to Soonyoung, nestle into his side. The curtains on Wonwoo’s side of the room can still be the same dark blue, just that now a string of yellow fairy lights hang across them - the stars against the night sky, Soonyoung says.

 

Turning to face Soonyoung, Wonwoo presses him into the wooden floorboards. And when their lips finally meet again, all he can think of are twinkling eyes and a smile like the sun.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're here!! the end!! finally!!! this project has meant the world to me, given that it was really my first seventeen fanwork, and my first snwu fanwork ever. i've poured so much into this, and i really hope anyone who's reading this has enjoyed it as much as i have. thank you for accompanying me, and for all the comments and support and everyone who's ever had to listen to me go on and on about this piece - i appreciate you all so much. if you’d like to reach me to yell @ me about anything, my twt is @unhaengiichi !


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